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Liza  of  Lambeth 
W.  Somerset  Maugham 


By  W.  Somerset  Maugham 


OF    HUMAN    BONDAGE 
THE    MOON    AND    SIXPENCE 
THE    TREMBLING   OF   A  LEAF 
LIZA   OF   LAMBETH 
MBS.   CRADDOCK 
THE    EXPLORER 
THE    MAGICIAN 


New  York 
George  H.  Do  ran  Company 


Liza  of  Lambeth 


BY 


W.    Somerset   Maugham 

Author  of  "The  Trembling  of  a  Leaf,"    "The 

Moon  and  Sixpence,"  "Of  Human 

Bondage"  Etc. 


New  <W  York 
George  H.  Doran  Company 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


Liza  of  Lambeth 


Liza  of  Lambeth 

Chapter  One 

IT  was  the  first  Saturday  afternoon  in  Au- 
gust ;  it  had  been  broiling  hot  all  day,  with 
a  cloudless  sky,  and  the  sun  had  been  beating 
down  on  the  houses  so  that  the  top  rooms  were 
like  ovens ;  but  now  with  the  approach  of  eve- 
ning it  was  cooler,  and  every  one  in  Vere 
Street  was  out-of-doors. 

Vere  Street,  Lambeth,  is  a  short,  straight 
street  leading  out  of  the  Westminster  Bridge 
Road;  it  has  forty  houses  on  one  side  and 
forty  houses  on  the  other,  and  these  eighty 
houses  are  very  much  more  like  one  another 
than  ever  peas  are  like  peas,  or  young  ladies 
like  young  ladies.  They  are  newish,  three- 
storied  buildings  of  dingy  grey  brick  with  slate 
roofs,  and  they  are  perfectly  flat,  without  a 
bow-window  or  even  a  projecting  cornice  or 


8  Liza  of  Lambeth 

window-sill  to  break  the  straightness  of  the 
line  from  one  end  of  the  street  to  the  other. 
This  Saturday  afternoon  the  street  was  full 
of  life:  no  traffic  came  down  Vere  Street,  and 
the  cemented  space  between  the  pavements  was 
given  up  to  children.  Several  games  of  cricket 
were  being  played  by  wildly  excited  boys, 
using  coats  for  wickets,  an  old  tennis-ball  or  a 
bundle  of  rags  tied  together  for  a  ball,  and, 
generally,  an  old  broomstick  for  bat.  The 
wicket  was  so  large  and  the  bat  so  small  that 
the  man  in  was  always  getting  bowled,  when 
heated  quarrels  would  arise,  the  batter  abso- 
lutely refusing  to  go  out  and  the  bowler  ab- 
solutely insisting  on  going  in.  The  girls  were 
more  peaceable ;  they  were  chiefly  employed  in 
skipping,  and  only  abused  one  another  mildly 
when  the  rope  was  not  properly  turned  or  the 
skipper  did  not  jump  sufficiently  high.  Worst 
off  of  all  were  the  very  young  children,  for 
there  had  been  no  rain  for  weeks,  and  the  street 
was  as  dry  and  clean  as  a  covered  court,  and, 
in  the  lack  of  mud  to  wallow  in,  they  sat  about 
the  road,  disconsolate  as  poets.  The  number 
of  babies  was  prodigious ;  they  sprawled  about 


Liza  of  Lambeth 


everywhere,  on  the  pavement,  round  the  doors, 
and  about  their  mothers'  skirts.  The  grown- 
ups were  gathered  round  the  open  doors ;  there 
were  usually  two  women  squatting  on  the 
doorstep,  and  two  or  three  more  seated  on 
either  side  on  chairs ;  they  were  invariably  nurs- 
ing babies,  and  most  of  them  showed  clear 
signs  that  the  present  object  of  the  maternal 
care  would  be  soon  ousted  by  a  new  arrival. 
Men  were  less  numerous,  but  such  as  there 
were  leant  against  the  walls,  smoking,  or  sat 
on  the  sills  of  the  ground-floor  windows.  It 
was  the  dead  season  in  Vere  Street  as  much 
as  in  Belgravia,  and  really  if  it  had  not  been 
for  babies  just  come  or  just  about  to  come, 
and  an  opportune  murder  in  a  neighbouring 
doss-house,  there  would  have  been  nothing 
whatever  to  talk  about.  As  it  was,  the  little 
groups  talked  quietly,  discussing  the  atrocity 
or  the  merits  of  the  local  midwives,  compar- 
ing the  circumstances  of  their  various  confine- 
ments. 

"You'll  be  'avin'  your  little  trouble  soon,  eh, 
Polly?"  asked  one  good  lady  of  another. 


10  Liza  of  Lambeth 

"Oh,  I  reckon  I've  got  another  two  months 
ter  go  yet,"  answered  Polly. 

"Well,"  said  a  third,  "I  wouldn't  'ave 
thought  you'd  go  so  long  by  the  look  of  yer!" 

"I  'ope  you'll  have  it  easier  this  time,  my 
dear,"  said  a  very  stout  old  person,  a  woman 
of  great  importance. 

"She  said  she  wasn't  goin'  to  'ave  no  more, 
when  the  last  one  come."  This  remark  came 
from  Polly's  husband. 

"Ah,"  said  the  stout  old  lady,  who  was  in 
the  business,  and  boasted  vast  experience. 
"That's  wot  they  all  says ;  but,  Lor'  bless  yer, 
they  don't  mean  it." 

"Well,  I've  got  three,  and  I'm  not  goin'  to 
'ave  no  more,  bli'me  if  I  will;  'tain't  good 
enough — that's  wot  I  says." 

"You're  abaht  right  there,  ole  gal,"  said 
Polly.  "My  word,  'Arry,  if  you  'ave  any  more 
I'll  git  a  divorce,  that  I  will." 

At  that  moment  an  organ-grinder  turned 
the  corner  and  came  down  the  street. 

"Good  biz;  'ere's  an  organ!"  cried  half  a 
dozen  people  at  once. 

The  organ-man  was  an  Italian,  with  a  shock 


Liza  of  Lambeth  II 

of  black  hair  and  a  ferocious  moustache. 
Drawing  his  organ  to  a  favourable  spot,  he 
stopped,  released  his  shoulder  from  the  leather 
straps  by  which  he  dragged  it,  and  cocking  his 
large  soft  hat  on  the  side  of  his  head,  began 
turning  the  handle.  It  was  a  lively  tune,  and 
in  less  than  no  time  a  little  crowd  had  gathered 
round  to  listen,  chiefly  the  young  men  and  the 
maidens,  for  the  married  ladies  were  never  in  a 
fit  state  to  dance,  and  therefore  disinclined  to 
trouble  themselves  to  stand  round  the  organ. 
There  was  a  moment's  hesitation  at  opening 
the  ball;  then  one  girl  said  to  another — 

"Come  on,  Florrie,  you  and  me  ain't  shy; 
we'll  begin,  and  bust  it!" 

The  two  girls  took  hold  of  one  another,  one 
acting  gentleman,  the  other  lady ;  three  or  four 
more  pairs  of  girls  immediately  joined  them, 
and  they  began  a  waltz.  They  held  them- 
selves very  upright;  and  with  an  air  of  grave 
dignity  which  was  quite  impressive,  glided 
slowly  about,  making  their  steps  with  the  ut- 
most precision,  bearing  themselves  with  suf- 
ficient decorum  for  a  court  ball.  After  a 
while  the  men  began  to  itch  for  a  turn,  and  two 


12  Liza  of  Lambeth 

of  them,  taking  hold  of  one  another  in  the 
most  approved  fashion,  waltzed  round  the  cir- 
cle with  the  gravity  of  judges. 

All  at  once  there  was  a  cry:  "There's 
Liza!"  And  several  members  of  the  group 
turned  and  called  out:  "Oo,  look  at  Liza!" 

The  dancers  stopped  to  see  the  sight,  and 
the  organ-grinder,  having  come  to  the  end  of 
his  tune,  ceased  turning  the  handle  and  looked 
to  see  what  was  the  excitement. 

"Oo,  Liza!"  they  called  out.  "Look  at 
Liza;  oo,  I  sy!" 

It  was  a  young  girl  of  about  eighteen,  with 
dark  eyes,  and  an  enormous  fringe,  puffed- 
out  and  curled  and  frizzed,  covering  her  whole 
forehead  from  side  to  side,  and  coming  down 
to  meet  her  eyebrows.  She  was  dressed  in 
brilliant  violet,  with  great  lappets  of  velvet, 
and  she  had  on  her  head  an  enormous  black 
hat  covered  with  feathers. 

"I  sy,  ain't  she  got  up  dossy?"  called  out 
the  groups  at  the  doors,  as  she  passed. 

"Dressed  ter  death,  and  kill  the  fashion; 
that's  wot  I  calls  it." 

Liza  saw  what  a  sensation  she  was  creat- 


Liza  of  Lambeth  13 

ing;  she  arched  her  back  and  lifted  her  head, 
and  walked  down  the  street,  swaying  her  body 
from  side  to  side,  and  swaggering  along  as 
though  the  whole  place  belonged  to  her. 

"  'Ave  yer  bought  the  street,  Bill?"  shouted 
one  youth;  and  then  half  a  dozen  burst  forth 
at  once,  as  if  by  inspiration — 

"Knocked  'em  in  the  Old  Kent  Road!" 

It  was  immediately  taken  up  by  a  dozen 
more,  and  they  all  yelled  it  out — 

"Knocked  'em  in  the  Old  Kent  Road.  Yah, 
ah,  knocked  'em  in  the  Old  Kent  Road!" 

"Oo,  Liza!"  they  shouted;  the  whole  street 
joined  in,  and  they  gave  long,  shrill,  ear-pierc- 
ing shrieks  and  strange  calls,  that  rung  down 
the  street  and  echoed  back  again. 

"Hextra  special!"  called  out  a  wag. 

"Oh,  Liza!  Oo!  Ooo!"  yells  and  whistles, 
and  then  it  thundered  forth  again — 

"Knocked  'em  in  the  Old  Kent  Road!" 

Liza  put  on  the  air  of  a  conquering  hero,  and 
sauntered  on,  enchanted  at  the  uproar.  She 
stuck  out  her  elbows  and  jerked  her  head  on 
one  side,  and  said  to  herself  as  she  passed 
through  the  bellowing  crowd — 


14  Liza  of  LambetH 

"This  is  jam!" 

"Knocked  'em  in  the  Old  Kent  Road!" 

When  she  came  to  the  group  round  the  bar- 
rel-organ, one  of  the  girls  cried  out  to  her — 

"Is  that  yer  new  dress,  Liza?" 

"Well,  it  don't  look  like  my  old  one,  do  it?" 
said  Liza. 

"Where  did  yer  git  it?"  asked  another 
friend,  rather  enviously. 

"Picked  it  up  in  the  street,  of  course!"  scorn- 
fully answered  Liza. 

"I  believe  it's  the  same  one  as  I  saw  in  the 
pawnbroker's  dahn  the  Road,"  said  one  of  the 
men,  to  teaze  her. 

"Thet's  it;  but  wot  was  you  doin'  in  there? 
Pledgin'  yer  shirt,  or  was  it  yer  trousers?" 

"Yah,  I  wouldn't  git  a  second-'and  dress  at 
a  pawnbroker's!" 

"Garn!"  said  Liza,  indignantly.  "I'll  swipe 
yer  over  the  snitch  if  yer  talk  ter  me.  I  got 
the  mayterials  in  the  West  Hend,  didn't  I? 
And  I  'ad  it  mide  up  by  my  Court  Dressmiker, 
so  you  jolly  well  dry  up,  old  jellybelly." 

"Garn!"  was  the  reply. 

Liza  had  been  so  intent  on  her  new  dress  and 


Liza  of  Lambeth  15 

the  comment  it  was  exciting  that  she  had  not 
noticed  the  organ. 

"Oo,  I  say,  let's  'ave  some  dancin',"  she 
said  as  soon  as  she  saw  it.  "Come  on,  Sally," 
she  added,  to  one  of  the  girls,  "you  an'  me'll 
dance  togither.  Grind  away,  old  cock!" 

The  man  turned  on  a  new  tune,  and  the  or- 
gan began  to  play  the  Intermezzo  from  the 
"Cavalleria";  other  couples  quickly  followed 
Liza's  example,  and  they  began  to  waltz  round 
with  the  same  solemnity  as  before;  but  Liza 
outdid  them  all;  if  the  others  were  as  stately 
as  queens,  she  was  as  stately  as  an  empress; 
the  gravity  and  dignity  with  which  she  waltzed 
were  something  appalling,  you  felt  that  the 
minuet  was  a  frolic  in  comparison;  it  would 
have  been  a  fitting  measure  to  tread  round  the 
grave  of  a  premiere  danseuse,  or  at  the  funeral 
of  a  professional  humorist.  And  the  graces  she 
put  on,  the  languor  of  the  eyes,  the  contemptu- 
ous curl  of  the  lips,  the  exquisite  turn  of  the 
hand,  the  dainty  arching  of  the  foot !  You  felt 
there  could  be  no  questioning  her  right  to  the 
tyranny  of  Vere  Street. 


16  Liza  of  Lambeth 

Suddenly  she  stopped  short,  and  disengaged 
herself  from  her  companion. 

"Oh,  I  sy,"  she  said,  "this  is  too  bloomin' 
slow;  it  gives  me  the  sick." 

That  is  not  precisely  what  she  said,  but  it 
is  impossible  always  to  give  the  exact  unex- 
purgated  words  of  Liza  and  the  other  person- 
ages of  the  story;  the  reader  is  therefore  en- 
treated with  his  thoughts  to  piece  out  the  neces- 
sary imperfections  of  the  dialogue. 

"It's  too  bloomin'  slow,"  she  said  again;  "it 
gives  me  the  sick.  Let's  'ave  somethin'  a  bit 
more  lively  than  this  'ere  waltz.  You  stand 
over  there,  Sally,  an'  we'll  show  'em  'ow  ter 
skirt  dance." 

They  all  stopped  waltzing. 

"Talk  of  the  ballet  at  the  Canterbury  and 
the  South  London.  You  just  wite  till  you  see 
the  ballet  at  Vere  Street,  Lambeth — we'll 
knock  'em!" 

She  went  up  to  the  organ-grinder. 

"Na  then,  Italiano,"  she  said  to  him,  "you 
buck  up ;  gives  us  a  tune  that's  got  some  guts 
in  it!  See?" 

She  caught  hold  of  his  big  hat  and  squashed 


Liza  of  Lambeth  17 

it  down  over  his  eyes.  The  man  grinned  from 
ear  to  ear,  and,  touching  the  little  catch  at  the 
side  began  to  play  a  lively  tune  such  as  Liza 
had  asked  for. 

The  men  had  fallen  out,  but  several  girls  had 
put  themselves  in  position,  in  couples,  standing 
face  to  face ;  and  immediately  the  music  struck 
up,  they  began.  They  held  up  their  skirts  on 
each  side,  so  as  to  show  their  feet,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  go  through  the  difficult  steps  and 
motions  of  the  dance.  Liza  was  right;  they 
could  not  have  done  it  better  in  a  trained  ballet. 
But  the  best  dancer  of  them  all  was  Liza ;  she 
threw  her  whole  soul  into  it;  forgetting  the 
stiff  bearing  which  she  had  thought  proper  to 
the  waltz,  and  casting  off  its  elaborate  graces, 
she  gave  herself  up  entirely  to  the  present 
pleasure.  Gradually  the  other  couples  stood 
aside,  so  that  Liza  and  Sally  were  left  alone. 
They  paced  it  carefully,  watching  each  other's 
steps,  and  as  if  by  instinct  performing  cor- 
responding movements,  so  as  to  make  the 
whole  a  thing  of  symmetry. 

"I'm  abaht  done,"  said  Sally,  blowing  and 
puffing.  "I've  'ad  enough  of  it." 


1 8  Liza  of  Lambeth 

"Go  on,  Liza!"  cried  out  a  dozen  voices  when 
Sally  stopped. 

She  gave  no  sign  of  having  heard  them  other 
than  calmly  to  continue  her  dance.  She  glided 
through  the  steps,  and  swayed  about,  and  ma- 
nipulated her  skirt,  all  with  the  most  charming 
grace  imaginable ;  then,  the  music  altering,  she 
changed  the  style  of  her  dancing,  her  feet 
moved  more  quickly,  and  did  not  keep  so 
strictly  to  the  ground.  She  was  getting  excited 
at  the  admiration  of  the  onlookers  and  her 
dance  grew  wilder  and  more  daring.  She 
lifted  her  skirts  higher,  brought  in  new  and 
more  difficult  movements  into  her  improvisa- 
tion, kicking  up  her  legs  she  did  the  wonderful 
twist,  backwards  and  forwards,  of  which  the 
dancer  is  proud. 

"Look  at  'er  legs!"  cried  one  of  the  men. 

"Look  at  'er  stockin's!"  shouted  another; 
and  indeed  they  were  remarkable,  for  Liza  had 
chosen  them  of  the  same  brilliant  hue  as  her 
dress,  and  was  herself  most  proud  of  the  har- 
mony. 

Her  dance  became  gayer:  her  feet  scarcely 
touched  the  ground,  she  whirled  round  madly. 


Liza  of  Lambeth  19 

"Tike  care  yer  don't  split!"  cried  out  one  of 
the  wags,  at  a  very  audacious  kick. 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  his  mouth 
when  Liza,  with  a  gigantic  effort,  raised  her 
foot  and  kicked  off  his  hat.  The  feat  was 
greeted  with  applause,  and  she  went  on,  mak- 
ing turns  and  twists,  flourishing  her  skirts, 
kicking  higher  and  higher,  and  finally,  amid  a 
volley  of  shouts,  fell  on  her  hands  and  turned 
head  over  heels  in  a  magnificent  catharine- 
wheel;  then  scrambling  to  her  feet  again,  she 
tumbled  into  the  arms  of  a  young  man  stand- 
ing in  the  front  of  the  ring. 

"Thet's  right,  Liza,"  he  said.  "Give  us  a 
kiss,  now,"  and  promptly  tried  to  take  one. 

"Git  aht!"  said  Liza,  pushing  him  away,  not 
too  gently. 

"Yus,  give  us  a  kiss,"  cried  another,  running 
up  to  her. 

"I'll  smack  yer  in  the  fice!"  said  Liza,  ele- 
gantly, as  she  dodged  him. 

"Ketch  'old  on  'er,  Bill,"  cried  out  a  third, 
"an'  we'll  all  kiss  her." 

"Na,  you  won't!"  shrieked  Liza,  beginning 
to  run. 


2O  Liza  of  Lambeth 

"Come  on,"  they  cried,  "we'll  ketch  'er." 

She  dodged  in  and  out,  between  their  legs, 
under  their  arms,  and  then,  getting  clear  of 
the  little  crowd,  caught  up  her  skirts  so  that 
they  might  not  hinder  her,  and  took  to  her  heels 
along  the  street.  A  score  of  men  set  in  chase, 
whistling,  shouting,  yelling;  the  people  at  the 
doors  looked  up  to  see  the  fun,  and  cried  out 
to  her  as  she  dashed  past;  she  ran  like  the  wind. 
Suddenly  a  man  from  the  side  darted  into  the 
middle  of  the  road,  stood  straight  in  her  way, 
and  before  she  knew  where  she  was,  she  had 
jumped  shrieking  into  his  arms,  and  he,  lifting 
her  up  to  him,  had  imprinted  two  sounding 
kisses  on  her  cheeks. 

"Oh  you !"  she  said.  Her  expression 

was  quite  unprintable;  nor  can  it  be  eu- 
phemised. 

There  was  a  shout  of  laughter  from  the  by- 
standers and  the  young  men  in  chase  of  her, 
and  Liza,  looking  up,  saw  a  big,  bearded  man 
whom  she  had  never  seen  before.  She  blushed 
to  the  very  roots  of  her  hair,  quickly  extricated 
herself  from  his  arms,  and,  amid  the  jeers  and 
laughter  of  every  one,  slid  into  the  door  of  the 
nearest  house  and  was  lost  to  view. 


Chapter  Two 

LIZA  and  her  mother  were  having  supper. 
Mrs.  Kemp  was  an  elderly  woman,  short, 
and  rather  stout,  with  a  red  face,  and  grey  hair 
brushed  tight  back  over  her  forehead.  She  had 
been  a  widow  for  many  years,  and  since  her 
husband's  death  had  lived  with  Liza  in  the 
ground-floor  front  room  in  which  they  were 
now  sitting.  Her  husband  had  been  a  soldier, 
and  from  a  grateful  country  she  received  a 
pension  large  enough  to  keep  her  from  starva- 
tion, and  by  charring  and  doing  such  odd  jobs 
as  she  could  get  she  earned  a  little  extra  to 
supply  herself  with  liquor.  Liza  was  able  to 
make  her  own  living  by  working  at  a  factory. 

Mrs.  Kemp  was  rather  sulky  this  evening. 

"Wot  was  yer  doin'  this  afternoon,  Liza?" 
she  asked. 

"I  was  in  the  street." 

"You're  always  in  the  street  when  I  want 
yer." 

21 


22  Liza  of  Lambeth 

"I  didn't  know  as  'ow  yer  wanted  me, 
mother,"  answered  Liza. 

"Well,  yer  might  'ave  come  ter  seel  I  might 
'ave  been  dead,  for  all  you  knew." 

Liza  said  nothing. 

"My  rheumatics  was  thet  bad  to-dy,  thet  I 
didn't  know  wot  ter  do  with  myself.  The  doc- 
tor said  I  was  to  be  rubbed  with  that  there  stuff 
'e  give  me,  but  yer  won't  never  do  nothin'  for 
me." 

"Well,  mother,"  said  Liza,  "your  rheumatics 
was  all  right  yesterday." 

"I  know  wot  you  was  doin' ;  you  was  showin' 
off  thet  new  dress  of  yours.  Pretty  waste  of 
money  thet  is,  instead  of  givin'  it  me  ter  sive 
up.  An'  for  the  matter  of  thet,  I  wanted  a 
new  dress  far  worse  than  you  did.  But,  of 
course,  I  don't  matter." 

Liza  did  not  answer,  and  Mrs.  Kemp  having 
nothing  more  to  say,  continued  her  supper  in 
silence. 

It  was  Liza  who  spoke  next. 

"There's  some  new  people  moved  in  the 
.street.  'Ave  you  seen  'em?"  she  asked. 

"Na,  wot  are  they?" 


Liza  of  Lambeth  23 

"I  dunno;  I've  seen  a  chap,  a  big  chap  with 
a  beard.  I  think  'e  lives  up  at  the  other  end." 

She  felt  herself  blushing  a  little. 

"No  one  any  good  you  be  sure,"  said  Mrs. 
Kemp.  "I  can't  swaller  these  new  people  as 
are  comin'  in ;  the  street  ain't  wot  it  was  when 
I  fust  come." 

When  they  had  done,  Mrs.  Kemp  got  up, 
and  having  finished  her  half -pint  of  beer,  said 
to  her  daughter : 

"Put  the  things  awy,  Liza.  I'm  just  goin' 
round  to  see  Mrs.  Clayton;  she's  just  'ad  twins, 
and  she  'ad  nine  before  these  come.  It's  a  pity 
the  Lord  don't  see  fit  ter  tike  some  on  'em — 
thet's  wot  I  say." 

After  which  pious  remark  Mrs.  Kemp  went 
out  of  the  house  and  turned  into  another  a  few 
doors  up. 

Liza  did  not  clear  the  supper  things  away 
as  she  was  told,  but  opened  the  window  and 
drew  her  chair  to  it.  She  leant  on  the  sill, 
looking  out  into  the  street.  The  sun  had  set, 
and  it  was  twilight,  the  sky  was  growing  dark, 
bringing  to  view  the  twinkling  stars ;  there  was 
no  breeze,  but  it  was  pleasantly  and  restfully 


24  Liza  of  Lambeth 

cool.  The  good  folk  still  sat  at  their  doorsteps, 
talking  as  before  on  the  same  inexhaustible 
subjects,  but  a  little  subdued  with  the  approach 
of  night.  The  boys  were  still  playing  cricket, 
but  they  were  mostly  at  the  other  end  of  the 
street,  and  their  shouts  were  muffled  before 
they  reached  Liza's  ears. 

She  sat,  leaning  her  head  on  her  hands, 
breathing  in  the  fresh  air  and  feeling  a  certain 
exquisite  sense  of  peacefulness  which  she  was 
not  used  to.  It  was  Saturday  evening,  and  she 
thankfully  remembered  that  there  would  be  no 
factory  on  the  morrow;  she  was  glad  to  rest. 
Somehow  she  felt  a  little  tired,  perhaps  it  was 
through  the  excitement  of  the  afternoon,  and 
she  enjoyed  the  quietness  of  the  evening.  It 
seemed  so  tranquil  and  still;  the  silence  filled 
her  with  a  strange  delight,  she  felt  as  if  she 
could  sit  there  all  through  the  night  looking 
out  into  the  cool,  dark  street,  and  up  heaven- 
wards at  the  stars.  She  was  very  happy,  but 
yet  at  the  same  time  experienced  a  strange  new 
sensation  of  melancholy,  and  she  almost  wished 
to  cry. 

Suddenly  a  dark  form  stepped  in  front  of 
the  open  window.  She  gave  a  little  shriek. 


Liza  of  Lambeth  25 

"  'Go's  thet?"  she  asked,  for  it  was  quite 
dark,  and  she  did  not  recognise  the  man  stand- 
ing in  front  of  her. 

"Me,  Liza,"  was  the  answer. 

"Tom?" 

"Yus!" 

It  was  a  young  man  with  light  yellow  hair 
and  a  little  fair  moustache,  which  made  him 
appear  almost  boyish;  he  was  light-com- 
plexioned,  and  blue-eyed,  and  had  a  frank  and 
pleasant  look  mingled  with  a  curious  bashful- 
ness  that  made  him  blush  when  people  spoke 
to  him. 

"Wot's  up?"  asked  Liza. 

"Come  aht  for  a  walk,  Liza,  will  yer?" 

"No!"  she  answered,  decisively. 

"You  promised  ter  yesterday,  Liza." 

"Yesterday  an'  ter-day's  two  different 
things,"  was  her  wise  reply. 

"Yus,  come  on,  Liza." 

"Na,  I  tell  yer,  I  won't." 

"I  want  ter  talk  ter  yer,  Liza."  Her  hand 
was  resting  on  the  window-sill,  and  he  put  his 
upon  it.  She  quickly  drew  it  back. 

"Well,  I  don't  want  yer  ter  talk  ter  me." 


26  Liza  of  Lambeth 

But  she  did,  for  it  was  she  who  broke  the 
silence. 

"Say,  Tom,  'oo  are  them  new  folk  as  'as 
come  into  the  street?  It's  a  big  chap  with  a 
brown  beard." 

"D'you  mean  the  bloke  as  kissed  yer  this 
afternoon?" 

Liza  blushed  again. 

"Well,  why  shouldn't  'e  kiss  me?"  she  said, 
with  some  inconsequence. 

"I  never  said  as  'ow  'e  shouldn't;  I  only  arst 
yer  if  it  was  the  sime." 

"Yus,  thet's  'oo  I  mean." 

'  'Is  nime  is  Blakeston — Jim  Blakeston. 
I've  only  spoke  to  'im  once;  he's  took  the  two 
top  rooms  at  No.  19  'ouse." 

"Wot's  'e  want  two  top  rooms  for?" 

"  'Im?  Oh,  'e's  got  a  big  family — five  kids. 
Ain't  yer  seen  'is  wife  abaht  the  street?  She's 
a  big,  fat  woman,  as  does  'er  'air  funny." 

"I  didn't  know  'e  'ad  a  wife." 

There  was  another  silence;  Liza  sat  think- 
ing, and  Tom  stood  at  the  window,  looking 
at  her 


Liza  of  Lambeth  27 

"Won't  yer  come  aht  with  me,  Liza?"  he 
asked,  at  last. 

"Na,  Tom,"  she  said,  a  little  more  gently, 
"It's  too  lite." 

"Liza,"  he  said,  blushing  to  the  roots  of  his 
hair. 

"Well?" 

"Liza" — he  couldn't  go  on,  and  stuttered 
in  his  shyness — "Liza,  I — I — I  loves  yer, 
Liza." 

"Garn  awy!" 

He  was  quite  brave  now,  and  took  hold  of 
her  hand. 

"Yer  know,  Liza,  I'm  earnin'  twenty-three 
shillin's  at  the  works  now,  an'  I've  got  some 
furniture  as  mother  left  me  when  she  was 
took." 

The  girl  said  nothing. 

"Liza,  will  you  'ave  me?  I'll  make  yer  a 
good  'usband,  Liza,  swop  me  bob,  I  will;  an' 
yer  know  I'm  not  a  drinkin'  sort.  Liza,  will 
yer  marry  me?" 

"Na,  Tom,"  she  answered,  quietly. 

"Oh,  Liza,  won't  you  'ave  me?" 

"Na,  Tom,  I  can't." 


28  Liza  of  Lambeth 

"Why  not?  You've  come  aht  walkin'  with 
me  ever  since  Whitsun." 

"Ah,  things  is  different  now." 

"You're  not  walkin'  aht  with  anybody  else, 
are  you,  Liza?"  he  asked,  quickly. 

"Na,  not  that." 

"Well,  why  won't  yer,  Liza?  Oh,  Liza,  I 
do  love  yer;  I've  never  loved  anybody  as  I  love 
you!" 

"Oh,  I  can't,  Tom!" 

"There  ain't  no  one  else?" 

"Na." 

"Then  why  not?" 

"I'm  very  sorry,  Tom,  but  I  don't  love  yer 
so  as  ter  marry  yer." 

"Oh,  Liza!" 

She  could  not  see  the  look  upon  his  face,  but 
she  heard  the  agony  in  his  voice;  and,  moved 
with  sudden  pity,  she  bent  out,  threw  her  arms 
round  his  neck,  and  kissed  him  on  both  cheeks. 

"Never  mind,  old  chap!"  she  said.  "I'm  not 
worth  troublin'  abaht." 

And  quickly  drawing  back,  she  slammed  the 
window  to,  and  moved  into  the  further  part  of 
the  room. 


Chapter  Three 

fTlHE  following  day  was  Sunday.  Liza, 
A  when  she  was  dressing  herself  in  the 
morning,  felt  the  hardness  of  fate  in  the  im- 
possibility of  eating  one's  cake  and  having  it; 
she  wished  she  had  reserved  her  new  dress  and 
had  still  before  her  the  sensation  of  a  first  ap- 
pearance in  it.  With  a  sigh  she  put  on  her 
ordinary  everyday  working  dress,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  get  the  breakfast  ready,  for  her 
mother  had  been  out  late  the  previous  night, 
celebrating  the  new  arrivals  in  the  street,  and 
had  the  "rheumatics"  this  morning. 

"Oo,  my  'ead!"  she  was  saying,  as  she 
pressed  her  hands  on  each  side  of  her  forehead. 
"I've  got  the  neuralgy  agin;  wot  shall  I  do? 
I  dunno  'ow  it  is,  but  it  always  comes  on  Sun- 
day mornings.  Oo,  an'  my  rheumatics,  they 
give  me  sich  a  doin'  in  the  night !" 

"You'd  better  go  to  the  'orspital,  mother." 
"Not  I!"  answered  the  worthy  lady,  with 

29 


30  Liza  of  Lambeth 

great  decision.  "You  'as  a  dozen  young  chaps 
messin'  you  abaht,  and  lookin'  at  yer ;  and  then 
they  tells  yer  ter  leave  off  beer  and  spirrits. 
Well,  wot  I  says,  I  says  I  can't  do  withaht  my 
glass  of  beer."  She  thumped  her  pillow  to 
emphasise  the  statement. 

"Wot  with  the  work  I  'ave  ter  do,  lookin' 
after  you  and  the  cookin'  and  gettin'  everythin' 
ready  and  doin'  all  the  'ousework,  and  goin'  aht 
charring  besides — well,  I  says,  if  I  don't  'ave 
a  drop  of  beer,  I  says,  ter  pull  me  together,  I 
should  be  under  the  turf  in  no  time." 

She  munched  her  bread-and-butter  and 
drank  her  tea. 

"When  you've  done  breakfast,  Liza,"  she 
said,  "you  can  give  the  grate  a  cleanin',  an'  my 
boots'd  do  with  a  bit  of  polishin'.  Mrs.  Tike, 
in  the  next  'ouse,  '11  give  yer  some  blackin'." 

She  remained  silent  for  a  bit,  then  said: 

"I  don't  think  I  shall  get  up  ter-day,  Liza. 
My  rheumatics  is  bad.  You  can  put  the  room 
straight  and  cook  the  dinner." 

"Arright,  mother;  you  stay  where  you  are, 
an'  I'll  do  everythin'  for  yer." 

"Well,  it's  only  wot  yer  ought  to  do,  con- 


Liza  of  Lambeth  31 

siderin'  all  the  trouble  you've  been  ter  me  when 
you  was  young,  and  considerin'  thet  when  you 
was  born  the  doctor  thought  I  never  should  get 
through  it.  Wot  'ave  you  done  with  your 
week's  money,  Liza?" 

"Oh,  I've  put  it  awy,"  answered  Liza, 
quietly. 

"Where?"  asked  her  mother. 

"Where  it'll  be  safe." 

"Where's  that?" 

Liza  was  driven  into  a  corner. 

"Why  d'you  want  ter  know?"  she  asked. 

"Why  shouldn't  I  know ;  d'you  think  I  want 
ter  steal  it  from  yer?" 

"Na,  not  thet." 

"Well,  why  won't  you  tell  me?" 

"Oh,  a  thing's  sifer  when  only  one  person 
knows  where  it  is." 

This  was  a  very  discreet  remark,  but  it  set 
Mrs.  Kemp  in  a  whirlwind  of  passion.  She 
raised  herself  and  sat  up  in  the  bed,  flourishing 
her  clenched  fist  at  her  daughter. 

"I  know  wot  yer  mean,  you you!"  her 

language  was  emphatic,  her  epithets  pictur- 
esque, but  too  forcible  for  reproduction.  "You 


32  Liza  of  Lambeth 

think  I'd  steal  it,"  she  went  on.  "I  know  yer! 
D'yer  think  I'd  go  an'  tike  yer  dirty  money?" 

"Well,  mother,"  said  Liza,  "when  I've  told 
yer  before,  the  money's  perspired  like." 

" Wot  d'yer  mean?" 

"It  got  less." 

"Well,  I  can't  'elp  thet,  can  I?  Any  one 
can  come  in  'ere  and  tike  the  money." 

"If  it's  'idden  awy,  they  can't,  can  they, 
mother?"  said  Liza. 

Mrs.  Kemp  shook  her  fist. 

"You  dirty  slut,  you,"  she  said,  "yer  think 
I  tike  yer  money!  Why,  you  ought  ter  give 
it  me  every  week  instead  of  savin'  it  up  and 
spendin'  it  on  all  sorts  of  muck,  while  I  'ave 
ter  grind  my  very  bones  down  to  keep  yer." 

"Yer  know,  mother,  if  I  didn't  'ave  a  little 
bit  saved  up,  we  should  be  rather  short  when 
you're  dahn  in  yer  luck." 

Mrs.  Kemp's  money  always  ran  out  on  Tues- 
day, and  Liza  had  to  keep  things  going  till  the 
following  Saturday. 

"Oh,  don't  talk  ter  me!"  proceeded  Mrs. 
Kemp.  "When  I  was  a  girl  I  give  all  my 
money  ter  my  mother.  She  never  'ad  ter  ask 


Liza  of  Lambeth  33 

me  for  nothin'.  On  Saturday  when  I  come 
'ome  with  my  wiges,  I  give  it  'er  every  f  arthin', 
That's  wot  a  daughter  ought  ter  do.  I  can  say 
this  for  myself,  I  be'aved  by  my  mother  like  a 
gal  should.  None  of  your  prodigal  sons  for 
me!  She  didn't  'ave  ter  ask  me  for  three 
'apence  ter  git  a  drop  of  beer." 

Liza  was  wise  in  her  generation;  she  held 
her  tongue,  and  put  on  her  hat. 

"Now,  you're  goin'  aht,  and  leavin'  me;  I 
dunno  wot  you  get  up  to  in  the  street  with  all 
those  men.  No  good,  I'll  be  bound.  An'  'ere 
am  I  left  all  alone,  an'  I  might  die  for  all  you 
care." 

In  her  sorrow  at  herself  the  old  lady  began 
to  cry,  and  Liza  slipped  out  of  the  room  and 
into  the  street. 

Leaning  against  the  wall  of  the  opposite 
house  was  Tom;  he  came  towards  her. 

"  'Ulloa!"  she  said,  as  she  saw  him.  "Wot 
are  you  doin'  'ere?" 

"I  was  waitin'  for  you  ter  come  aht,  Liza,"" 
he  answered. 

She  looked  at  him  quickly. 


34  Liza  of  Lambeth 

"I  ain't  comin'  aht  with  yer  ter-day,  if  thet's 
wot  yer  mean,"  she  said. 

"I  never  thought  of  arskin'  yer,  Liza — after 
wot  you  said  ter  me  last  night." 

His  voice  was  a  little  sad,  and  she  felt  so 
sorry  for  him. 

"But  yer  did  want  ter  speak  ter  me,  didn't 
yer,  Tom?"  she  said,  more  gently. 

"You've  got  a  day  off  ter-morrow,  ain't 
yer?" 

"Bank  'Oliday.    Yus!    Why?" 

"Why,  'cause  they've  got  a  drag  startin' 
from  the  'Red  Lion'  that's  goin'  down  ter 
Chingford  for  the  day — an'  I'm  goin'." 

"Yus!"  she  said.  ' 

He  looked  at  her  doubtfully. 

"Will  yer  come  too,  Liza?  It'll  be  a  regular 
beeno;  there's  only  goin'  ter  be  people  in  the 
street.  Eh,  Liza?" 

"Na,  I  can't." 

"Why  not?" 

"I  ain't  got — I  ain't  got  the  ooftish." 

"I  mean,  won't  yer  come  with  me?" 

"Na,  Tom,  thank  yer;  I  can't  do  thet 
neither." 


Liza  of  Lambeth  35 

"Yer  might  as  well,  Liza;  it  wouldn't  'urt 
yer." 

"Na,  it  wouldn't  be  right  like;  I  can't  come 
aht  with  yer,  and  then  mean  nothin' !  It  would 
be  doin'  yer  aht  of  an  outing." 

"I  don't  see  why,"  he  said,  very  crestfallen. 

"I  can't  go  on  keepin'  company  with  you — 
after  what  I  said  last  night." 

"I  sha'n't  enjoy  it  a  bit  without  you,  Liza." 

"You  git  somebody  else,  Tom.  You'll  do 
withaht  me  all  right." 

She  nodded  to  him,  and  walked  up  the  street 
to  the  house  of  her  friend  Sally.  Having 
arrived  in  front  of  it,  she  put  her  hands  to  her 
mouth  in  trumpet  form,  and  shouted : 

"'I!    'I!    'I!    Sally!" 

A  couple  of  fellows  standing  by  copied  her. 

"'I!    'I!    'I!    Sally!" 

"Garn!"  said  Liza,  looking  round  at  them. 

Sally  did  not  appear,  and  she  repeated  her 
call.  The  men  imitated  her,  and  half  a  dozen 
took  it  up,  so  that  there  was  enough  noise  to 
wake  the  seven  sleepers. 

"'I!    'I!    'I!    Sally!" 


36  Liza  of  Lambeth 

A  head  was  put  out  of  a  top  window,  and 
Liza,  taking  off  her  hat,  waved  it,  crying: 
"Come  on  dahn,  Sally!" 
"Arright,  old  gal!"  shouted  the  other.    "I'm 


comin' !" 


"So's  Christmas!"  was  Liza's  repartee. 

There  was  a  clatter  down  the  stairs,  and 
Sally,  rushing  through  the  passage,  threw  her- 
self on  to  her  friend.  They  began  fooling,  in 
reminiscence  of  a  melodrama  they  had  lately 
seen  together. 

"Oh,  my  darlin'  duck!"  said  Liza,  kissing  her 
and  pressing  her,  with  affected  rapture,  to  her 
bosom. 

"My  sweetest  sweet!"  replied  Sally,  copying 
her. 

"An'  'ow  does  your  lidyship  ter-day?" 

"Oh!" — with  immense  languor — "fust  class; 
and  is  your  royal  'ighness  quite  well?" 

"I  deeply  regret,"  answered  Liza,  "but  my 
royal  'ighness  'as  got  the  collywobbles." 

Sally  was  a  small,  thin  girl,  with  sandy  hair 
and  blue  eyes,  and  a  very  freckled  complexion. 
She  had  an  enormous  mouth,  with  terrible, 
square  teeth  set  wide  apart,  which  looked  as 


Liza  of  Lambeth  37 

if  they  could  masticate  an  iron  bar.  She  was 
dressed  like  Liza,  in  a  shortish  black  skirt  and 
an  old-fashioned  bodice,  green  and  grey  and 
yellow  with  age ;  her  sleeves  were  tucked  up  to 
the  elbow,  and  she  wore  a  singularly  dirty 
apron,  that  had  once  been  white. 

"Wot  'ave  you  got  yer  'air  in  them  things 
for?"  asked  Liza,  pointing  to  the  curl-papers. 
"Coin'  aht  with  yer  young  man  ter-day?" 

"Na,  I'm  going  ter  stay  'ere  all  day." 

"Wot  for,  then?" 

"Why,  'Arry's  going  ter  tike  me  ter  Ching- 
ford  ter-morrer." 

"Oh?    In  the  'Red  Lion'  brake?" 

"Yus.    Are  you  goin'?" 

"Na!" 

"Not!  Well,  why  don't  you  get  round 
Tom?  'E'll  tike  yer,  and  jolly  glad  'e'll  be, 
too." 

'  'E  arst  me  ter  go  with  'im,  but  I  wouldn't." 

"Swop  me  bob — why  not?" 

"I  ain't  keepin'  company  with  'im." 

"Yer  might  'ave  gone  with  'im  all  the  sime." 

"Na.     You're  goin'  with  'Arry,  ain't  yer?" 

"Yus!" 


38  Liza  of  Lambeth 

"An'  you're  going  to  'ave  'im?" 

"Right  again!" 

"Well,  I  couldn't  go  with  Tom,  an'  then 
throw  'im  over." 

"Well,  you  are  a  mug!" 

The  two  girls  had  strolled  down  towards  the 
Westminster  Bridge  Road,  and  Sally,  meeting 
her  young  man,  had  gone  to  him.  Liza  walked 
back,  wishing  to  get  home  in  time  to  cook  the 
dinner.  But  she  went  slowly,  for  she  knew 
every  dweller  in  the  street,  and  as  she  passed 
the  groups  sitting  at  their  doors,  as  on  the 
previous  evening,  but  this  time  mostly  en- 
gaged in  peeling  potatoes  or  shelling  peas,  she 
stopped  and  had  a  little  chat.  Every  one  liked 
her,  and  was  glad  to  have  her  company.  "Good 
old  Liza,"  they  would  say,  as  she  left  them, 
"she's  a  rare  good  sort,  ain't  she?" 

She  asked  after  the  aches  and  pains  of  all 
the  old  people,  and  delicately  inquired  after 
the  babies,  past  and  future;  the  children  hung 
on  to  her  skirts  and  asked  her  to  play  with 
them,  and  she  would  hold  one  end  of  the  rope 
while  tiny  little  ragged  girls  skipped,  invari- 
ably entangling  themselves  after  two  jumps. 


Liza  of  Lambeth  39 

She  had  nearly  reached  home,  when  she 
heard  a  voice  cry — 

"MorninT 

She  looked  round  and  recognised  the  man 
whom  Tom  had  told  her  was  called  Jim  Blake- 
ston.  He  was  sitting  on  a  stool  at  the  door  of 
one  of  the  houses,  playing  with  two  young  chil- 
dren, to  whom  he  was  giving  rides  on  his  knee. 
She  remembered  his  heavy  brown  beard  from 
the  day  before,  and  she  had  also  an  impression 
of  great  size;  she  noticed  this  morning  that 
he  was,  in  fact,  a  big  man,  tall  and  broad,  and 
she  saw  besides  that  he  had  large,  masculine 
features  and  pleasant  brown  eyes.  She  sup- 
posed him  to  be  about  forty. 

"Mornin'!"  he  said  again,  as  she  stopped 
and  looked  at  him. 

Liza  blushed  scarlet,  and  was  too  confused 
to  answer. 

"Well,  yer  needn't  look  as  if  I  was  goin' 
ter  eat  yer  up,  'cause  I  ain't,"  he  said. 

'  'Oo  are  you?    I'm  not  afeard  of  yer." 

"Wot  are  yer  so  bloomin'  red  abaht?"  he 
asked,  pointedly. 

"Well,  I'm  'ot." 


40  Liza  of  Lambeth 

"You  ain't  shirty  'cause  I  kissed  yer  last 
night?" 

"I'm  not  shirty;  but  it  was  pretty  cool,  con- 
siderin'  like  as  I  didn't  know  yer." 

"Well,  you  run  into  my  arms." 

"Thet  I  didn't;  you  run  aht  and  caught  me." 

"An'  kissed  yer  before  you  could  say  'Jack 
Robinson.' '  He  laughed  at  the  thought. 
"Well,  Liza,"  he  went  on,  "seem5  as  'ow  I 
kissed  yer  against  yer  will,  the  best  thing  you 
can  do  ter  make  it  up  is  to  kiss  me  not  against 
yer  will." 

"Me?"  said  Liza,  looking  at  him,  open- 
mouthed.  "Well,  you  are  a  pill !" 

The  children  began  to  clamour  for  the  rid- 
ing, which  had  been  discontinued  on  Liza's  ap- 
proach. 

"Are  them  your  kids?"  she  asked. 

"Yus;  them's  two  on  'em." 

'  'Ow  many  'ave  yer  got?" 

"Five;  the  eldest  gal's  fifteen,  and  the  next 
one  'oo's  a  boy's  twelve,  and  then  there  are 
these  two  and  baby." 

"Well,  you've  got  enough  for  your  money." 

"Too  many  for  me — and  more  comin'." 


Liza  of  Lambeth  41 

"Ah  well,"  said  Liza,  laughing,  "thet's  your 
fault,  ain't  it?" 

Then  she  bade  him  good  morning,  and 
strolled  off. 

He  watched  her  as  she  went,  and  saw  half  a 
dozen  little  boys  surround  her  and  beg  her  to 
join  them  in  their  game  of  cricket.  They 
caught  hold  of  her  arms  and  skirts,  and  pulled 
her  to  their  pitch. 

"ATa,  I  can't,"  she  said,  trying  to  disengage 
herself.  "I've  got  the  dinner  ter  cook." 

"Dinner  ter  cook?"  shouted  one  small  boy. 
"Why,  they  always  cooks  the  cats'  meat  at  the 
shop." 

"You  little  so-and-so!"  said  Liza,  somewhat 
inelegantly,  making  a  dash  at  him. 

He  dodged  her  and  gave  a  whoop;  then 
turning  he  caught  her  round  the  legs,  and  an- 
other boy  catching  hold  of  her  round  the  neck 
they  dragged  her  down,  and  all  three  struggled 
on  the  ground,  rolling  over  and  over;  the 
other  boys  threw  themselves  on  the  top,  so  that 
there  was  a  great  heap  of  legs  and  arms  and 
heads  waving  and  bobbing  up  and  down. 

Liza  extricated  herself  with  some  difficulty, 


42  Liza  of  Lambeth 

and  taking  off  her  hat  she  began  cuffing  the 
boys  with  it,  using  all  the  time  the  most  lively 
expressions.  Then,  having  cleared  the  field, 
she  retired  victorious  into  her  own  house  and 
began  cooking  the  dinner. 


Chapter  Four 

BANK  HOLIDAY  was  a  beautiful  day: 
the  cloudless  sky  threatened  a  stifling 
heat  for  noontide,  but  early  in  the  morning, 
when  Liza  got  out  of  bed  and  threw  open  the 
window,  it  was  fresh  and  cool.  She  dressed 
herself,  wondering  how  she  should  spend  her 
day ;  she  thought  of  Sally  going  off  to  Ching- 
ford  with  her  lover,  and  of  herself  remaining 
alone  in  the  dull  street  with  half  the  people 
away.  She  almost  wished  it  were  an  ordinary 
work-day,  and  that  there  were  no  such  things 
as  Bank  Holidays.  And  it  seemed  to  be  a 
little  like  two  Sundays  running,  but  with  the 
second  rather  worse  than  the  first.  Her 
mother  was  still  sleeping,  and  she  was  in  no 
great  hurry  about  getting  the  breakfast,  but 
stood  quietly  looking  out  of  the  window  at  the 
house  opposite. 

In  a  little  while  she  saw  Sally  coming  along. 
She  was  arrayed  in  purple  and  fine  linen — a 

43 


44  Liza  of  Lambeth 

very  smart  red  dress,  trimmed  with  velveteen, 
and  a  tremendous  hat  covered  with  feathers. 
She  had  reaped  the  benefit  of  keeping  her  hair 
in  curl-papers  since  Saturday,  and  her  sandy 
fringe  stretched  from  ear  to  ear.  She  was  in 
enormous  spirits. 

;  'Ulloa,  Liza!"  she  called  as  soon  as  she 
saw  her  at  the  window. 

Liza  looked  at  her  a  little  enviously. 

"  'Ulloa!"  she  answered,  quietly. 

"I'm  just  goin'  to  the  'Red  Lion'  to  meet 
'Arry." 

"At  what  time  d'yer  start?" 

"The  brake  leaves  at  'alf-past  eight  sharp." 

"Why,  it's  only  eight;  it's  only  just  struck 
at  the  church.  'Arry  won't  be  there  yet,  will 
he?" 

"Oh,  Vs  sure  ter  be  early.  I  couldn't  wite. 
I've  been  witin'  abaht  since  'alf-past  six.  I've 
been  up  since  five  this  morning." 

"Since  five!    What  'ave  you  been  doin'?" 

"Dressin'  myself  and  doin'  my  'air.  I  woke 
up  so  early.  I've  been  dreamin'  all  the  night 
abaht  it.  I  simply  couldn't  sleep." 

"Well,  you  are  a  caution!"  said  Liza. 


Liza  of  Lambeth  45 

"Bust  it,  I  don't  go  on  the  spree  every  day! 
Oh,  I  do  'ope  I  shall  enjoy  myself." 

"Why,  you  simply  dunno  where  you  are!" 
said  Liza,  a  little  crossly. 

"Don't  you  wish  you  was  comin',  Liza?" 
asked  Sally. 

"NaJ  I  could  if  I  liked,  but  I  don't  want 
ter." 

"You  are  a  coughdrop — thet's  all  I  can  say. 
Ketch  me  refusin'  when  I  'ave  the  chanst." 

"Well,  it's  done  now.  I  ain't  got  the  chanst 
any  more."  Liza  said  this  with  just  a  little  re- 
gret in  her  voice. 

"Come  on  dahn  to  the  'Red  Lion,'  Liza,  and 
see  us  off,"  said  Sally. 

"No,  I'm  damned  if  I  do!"  answered  Liza, 
iwith  some  warmth. 

"You  might  as  well.  P'raps  'Arry  won't 
be  there,  an'  you  can  keep  me  company  till  'e 
comes.  An'  you  can  see  the  'orses." 

Liza  was  really  very  anxious  to  see  the  brake 
and  the  horses  and  the  people  going;  but  she 
hesitated  a  little  longer.  Sally  asked  her  once 
again.  Then  she  said: 


46  Liza  of  Lambeth 

"Arright;  I'll  come  with  yer,  and  wite  till 
the  bloomin'  old  thing  starts." 

She  did  not  trouble  to  put  on  a  hat,  but  just 
walked  out  as  she  was,  and  accompanied  Sally 
to  the  public-house  which  was  getting  up  the 
expedition. 

Although  there  was  still  nearly  half  an  hour 
to  wait,  the  brake  was  drawn  up  before  the 
main  entrance ;  it  was  large  and  long,  with  seats 
arranged  crosswise,  so  that  four  people  could 
sit  on  each;  and  it  was  drawn  by  two  powerful 
horses,  whose  harness  the  coachman  was  now 
examining.  Sally  was  not  the  first  on  the 
scene,  for  already  half  a  dozen  people  had 
taken  their  places,  but  Harry  had  not  yet 
arrived.  The  two  girls  stood  by  the  public- 
house  door,  looking  at  the  preparations.  Huge 
baskets  full  of  food  were  brought  out  and 
stowed  away;  cases  of  beer  were  hoisted  up  and 
put  in  every  possible  place — under  the  seats, 
under  the  driver's  legs,  and  even  beneath  the 
brake.  As  more  people  came  up,  Sally  began 
to  get  excited  about  Harry's  non-appearance. 

"I  say,  I  wish  'e'd  come!"  she  said.  "  'E  is 
lite." 


Liza  of  Lambeth  47 

Then  she  looked  up  and  down  the  Westmin- 
ster Bridge  Road,  to  see  if  he  was  in  view. 

"Suppose  'e  don't  turn  up!  I  will  give  it 
'im  when  'e  comes  for  keepin'  me  witin'  like 
this." 

"Why,  there's  a  quarter  of  an  hour  yet," 
said  Liza,  who  saw  nothing  at  all  to  get  ex- 
cited about. 

At  last  Sally  saw  her  lover,  and  rushed  off 
to  meet  him.  Liza  was  left  alone,  rather  dis- 
consolate at  all  this  bustle  and  preparation. 
She  was  not  sorry  that  she  had  refused  Tom's 
invitation,  but  she  did  wish  that  she  had  consci- 
entiously been  able  to  accept  it.  Sally  and  her 
friend  came  up ;  attired  in  his  Sunday  best,  he 
was  a  fit  match  for  his  lady-love — he  wore  a 
shirt  and  collar,  unusual  luxuries! — and  he 
carried  under  his  arm  a  concertina  to  make 
things  merry  on  the  way. 

"Ain't  you  goin',  Liza?"  he  asked  in  surprise 
at  seeing  her  without  a  hat  and  with  her 
apron  on. 

"Na,"  said  Sally,  "ain't  she  a  soft?  Tom 
said  'e'd  tike  'er,  an'  she  wouldn't." 

"Well,  I'm  dashed!" 


48  Liza  of  Lambeth 

Then  they  climbed  the  ladder  and  took  their 
seats,  so  that  Liza  was  left  alone  again.  More 
people  had  come  along,  and  the  brake  was 
nearly  full.  Liza  knew  them  all,  but  they  were 
too  busy  taking  their  places  to  talk  to  her.  At 
last  Tom  came.  He  saw  her  standing  there 
and  went  up  to  her. 

"Won't  yer  change  your  mind,  Liza,  an' 
come  along  with  us?" 

"Na,  Tom,  I  told  yer  I  wouldn't — it's  not 
right  like."  She  felt  she  must  repeat  that  to 
herself  often. 

"I  sha'n't  enjoy  it  a  bit  without  you,"  he 
said. 

"Well,  I  can't  'elp  it!"  she  answered  some- 
what sullenly. 

At  that  moment  a  man  came  out  of  the  pub- 
lic-house with  a  horn  in  his  hand;  her  heart 
gave  a  great  jump,  for  if  there  was  anything 
she  adored  it  was  to  drive  along  to  the  tootling 
of  a  horn.  She  really  felt  it  was  very  hard 
lines  that  she  must  stay  at  home  when  all  these 
people  were  going  to  have  such  a  fine  time; 
and  they  were  all  so  merry,  and  she  could  pic- 
ture to  herself  so  well  the  delights  of  the  drive 


Liza  of  Lambeth  49 

and  the  picnic.  She  felt  very  much  inclined  to 
cry.  But  she  mustn't  go,  and  she  wouldn't 
go:  she  repeated  that  to  herself  twice  as  the 
trumpeter  gave  a  preliminary  tootle. 

Two  more  people  hurried  along,  and  when 
they  came  near  Liza  saw  that  they  were  Jim 
Blakeston  and  a  woman  whom  she  supposed 
to  be  his  wife. 

"Are  you  comin',  Liza?"  Jim  said  to  her. 

"No,"  she  answered.  "I  didn't  know  you 
was  goin'." 

"I  wish  you  was  comin',"  he  replied;  "we 
shall  'ave  a  game." 

She  could  only  just  keep  back  the  sobs;  she 
so  wished  she  were  going.  It  did  seem  hard 
that  she  must  remain  behind;  and  all  because 
she  wasn't  going  to  marry  Tom.  After  all, 
she  didn't  see  why  that  should  prevent  her; 
there  really  was  no  need  to  refuse  for  that. 
She  began  to  think  she  had  acted  foolishly: 
it  didn't  do  any  one  any  good  that  she  refused 
to  go  out  with  Tom,  and  no  one  thought  it 
anything  specially  fine  that  she  should  re- 
nounce her  pleasure.  Sally  merely  thought 
her  a  fool. 


50  Liza  of  Lambeth 

Tom  was  standing  by  her  side,  silent,  and 
looking  disappointed  and  rather  unhappy. 
Jim  said  to  her,  in  a  low  voice : 

"I  am  sorry  you're  not  comin'!" 

It  was  too  much.  She  did  want  to  go  so 
badly,  and  she  really  couldn't  resist  any  longer. 
If  Tom  would  only  ask  her  once  more,  and 
if  she  could  only  change  her  mind  reasonably 
and  decently,  she  would  accept;  but  he  stood 
silent,  and  she  had  to  speak  herself.  It  was 
very  undignified. 

"Yer  know,  Tom,"  she  said,  "I  don't  want 
to  spoil  your  day." 

"Well,  I  don't  think  I  shall  go  alone;  it  'ud 
be  so  precious  slow." 

Supposing  he  didn't  ask  her  again!  What 
should  she  do?  She  looked  up  at  the  clock 
on  the  front  of  the  pub,  and  noticed  that  it 
only  wanted  five  minutes  to  the  half-hour. 
How  terrible  it  would  be  if  the  brake  started 
and  he  didn't  ask  her!  Her  heart  beat  vio- 
lently against  her  chest,  and  in  her  agitation 
she  fumbled  with  the  corner  of  her  apron. 

"Well,  what  can  I  do,  Tom  dear?" 


Liza  of  Lambeth  51 

"Why,  come  with  me,  of  course.  Oh,  Liza, 
do  say  yes." 

She  had  got  the  offer  again,  and  it  only 
wanted  a  little  seemly  hesitation,  and  the  thing 
was  done. 

"I  should  like  ter,  Tom,"  she  said.  "But 
d'you  think  it  'ud  be  arright?" 

"Yus,  in  course  it  would.  Come  on,  Liza!" 
In  his  eagerness  he  clasped  her  hand. 

"Well,"  she  remarked,  looking  down,  "if 
it'd  spoil  your  'oliday " 

"I  won't  go  if  you  don't — swop  me  bob,  I 
won't!"  he  answered. 

"Well,  if  I  come,  it  won't  mean  that  I'm 
keepin'  company  with  you." 

"Na,  it  won't  mean  anythin'  you  don't  like." 

"Arright!"  she  said. 

"You'll  come?"  he  could  hardly  believe  her. 

"Yus!"  she  answered,  smiling  all  over  her 
face. 

"You're  a  good  sort,  Liza!  I  say,  'Arry, 
Liza's  comin'!"  he  shouted. 

"Liza?    'Oorray!"  shouted  Harry. 

"  'S'at  right,  Liza?"  called  Sally. 


52  Liza  of  Lambeth 

And  Liza,  feeling  quite  joyful  and  light  of 
heart,  called  back : 

"Yus!" 

"  'Oorray!"  shouted  Sally  in  answer. 

"Thet's  right,  Liza,"  called  Jim;  and  he 
smiled  pleasantly  as  she  looked  at  him. 

"There's  just  room  for  you  two  'ere,"  said 
Harry,  pointing  to  the  vacant  places  by  his 
side. 

"Arright!"  said  Tom. 

"I  must  just  go  an'  get  a  'at  an'  tell  mother," 
said  Liza. 

"There's  just  three  minutes.  Be  quick!" 
answered  Tom,  and  as  she  scampered  off  as 
hard  as  she  could  go,  he  shouted  to  the  coach- 
man, "'Old  'ard;  there's  another  passenger 
comin'  in  a  minute." 

"Arright,  old  cock,"  answered  the  coach- 
man; "no  'urry!" 

Liza  rushed  into  the  room,  and  called  to 
ther  mother,  who  was  still  asleep : 

"Mother!  mother!  I'm  going  to  Chingford!" 

Then  tearing  off  her  old  dress  she  slipped 
into  her  gorgeous  violet  one;  she  kicked  off 
her  old  ragged  shoes  and  put  on  her  new  boots. 


Liza  of  Lambeth  53 

She  brushed  her  hair  down  and  rapidly  gave 
her  fringe  a  twirl  and  a  twist — it  was  luckily 
still  moderately  in  curl  from  the  previous  Sat- 
urday— and  putting  on  her  black  hat  with  all 
the  feathers,  she  rushed  along  the  street,  and 
scrambling  up  the  brake  steps  fell  panting  on 
Tom's  lap. 

The  coachman  cracked  his  whip,  the  trum- 
peter tootled  his  horn,  and  with  a  cry  and  a 
cheer  from  the  occupants,  the  brake  clattered 
down  the  road. 


Chapter  Five 

AS  soon  as  Liza  had  recovered  herself  she 
started  examining  the  people  on  the 
brake;  and  first  of  all  she  took  stock  of  the 
woman  whom  Jim  Blakeston  had  with  him. 

"This  is  my  missus!"  said  Jim,  pointing  to 
her  with  his  thumb. 

"You  ain't  been  dahn  in  the  street  much, 
'ave  yer?"  said  Liza,  by  way  of  making  the 
acquaintance. 

"Na,"  answered  Mrs.  Blakeston,  "my 
youngest's  been  dahn  with  the  measles,  an'  I've 
'ad  my  work  cut  out  lookin'  after  'im." 

"Oh,  an'  is  'e  all  right  now?" 

"Yus,  'e's  gettin'  on  fine,  an'  Jim  wanted  ter 
go  ter  Chingford  ter-day,  an'  'e  says  ter  me, 
well,  'e  says,  'You  come  along  ter  Chingford 
too;  it'll  do  you  good.'  An'  'e  says,  'You  can 
leave  Polly — she's  my  eldest,  yer  know — 'you 
can  leave  Polly,'  says  'e,  'ter  look  after  the 
kids.'  So  I  says,  'Well  I  don't  mind  if  I  do/ 

says  I." 

55 


56  Liza  of  Lambeth 

Meanwhile  Liza  was  looking  at  her.  First 
she  noticed  her  dress:  she  wore  a  black  cloak 
and  a  funny,  old-fashioned  black  bonnet ;  then 
examining  the  woman  herself,  she  saw  a  mid- 
dle-sized, stout  person  anywhere  between 
thirty  and  forty  years  old.  She  had  a  large, 
fat  face  with  a  big  mouth,  and  her  hair  was 
curiously  done,  parted  in  the  middle  and  plas- 
tered down  on  each  side  of  the  head  in  little 
plaits.  One  could  see  that  she  was  a  woman  of 
great  strength,  notwithstanding  evident  traces 
of  hard  work  and  much  child-bearing. 

Liza  knew  all  the  other  passengers,  and  now 
that  every  one  was  settled  down  and  had  got 
over  the  excitement  of  departure,  they  had 
time  to  greet  one  another.  They  were  de- 
lighted to  have  Liza  among  them,  for  where 
she  was  there  was  no  dulness.  Her  attention 
was  first  of  all  taken  up  by  a  young  coster 
who  had  arrayed  himself  in  the  traditional  cos- 
tume— grey  suit,  tight  trousers,  and  shiny  but- 
tons in  profusion. 

"Wot  cheer,  Bill!"  she  cried  to  him. 

"Wot  cheer,  Liza!"  he  answered. 

"You  are  got  up  dossy;  you'll  knock  'em." 


Liza  of  Lambeth  57 

"Na  then,  Liza  Kemp,"  said  his  companion, 
turning  round  witii  mock  indignation,  "y°u  let 
my  Johnny  alone.  If  you  come  gettin'  round 
'im  I'll  give  you  wot  for." 

"Airight,  Clary  Sharp,  I  don't  want  'im," 
answered  Liza.  "I've  got  one  of  my  own,  an' 
thet's  a  good  'andful— ain't  it,  Tom?" 

Tom  was  delighted,  and,  unable  to  find  a 
repartee,  in  his  pleasure  gave  Liza  a  great 
nudge  with  his  elbow. 

'  'Oo,  I  say,"  said  Liza,  putting  her  hand 
to  her  side.  "Tike  care  of  my  ribs;  you'll 
brike  'em." 

"Them's  not  yer  ribs,"  shouted  a  candid 
friend — "them's  yer  whale-bones  yer  afraid  of 
breakin'." 

"Garn!" 

'  'Ave  yer  got  whale-bones  ?"  said  Tom,  with 
affected  simplicity,  putting  his  arm  round  her 
waist  to  feel. 

"Na  then,"  she  said,  "keep  off  the  grass!" 

"Well,  I  only  wanted  ter  know  if  you'd  got 
any." 

"Garn;  yer  don't  git  round  me  like  thet." 

He  still  kept  as  he  was. 


58  Liza  of  Lambeth 

"Na  then,"  she  repeated,  "tike  yer  'and 
away.  If  yer  touch  me  there  you'll  'ave  ter 
marry  me." 

"Thet's  just  wot  I  wants  ter  do,  Liza!" 

"Shut  it!"  she  answered,  cruelly,  and  drew 
his  arm  away  from  her  waist. 

The  horses  scampered  on,  and  the  man  be- 
hind blew  his  horn  with  vigour. 

"Don't  bust  yerself,  guv'ner!"  said  one  of 
the  passengers  to  him  when  he  made  a  par- 
ticularly discordant  sound.  They  drove  along 
eastwards,  and  as  the  hour  grew  later  the 
streets  became  more  filled  and  the  traffic 
greater.  At  last  they  got  on  the  road  to  Ching- 
ford,  and  caught  up  numbers  of  other  vehicles 
going  in  the  same  direction — donkey-shays, 
pony-carts,  tradesmen's  carts,  dog-carts, 
drags,  brakes,  every  conceivable  kind  of  wheel 
thing,  all  filled  with  people,  the  wretched  don- 
key dragging  along  four  solid  ratepayers  to 
the  pair  of  stout  horses  easily  managing  a 
couple  of  score.  They  exchanged  cheers  and 
greetings  as  they  passed,  the  "Red  Lion" 
brake  being  noticeable  above  all  for  its  uproar- 
iousness.  As  the  day  wore  on  the  sun  became 


Liza  of  Lambeth  59 

hotter,  and  the  road  seemed  more  dusty  and 
threw  up  a  greater  heat. 

"I  am  getting  'ot!"  was  the  common  cry, 
and  every  one  began  to  puff  and  sweat. 

The  ladies  removed  their  cloaks  and  capes, 
and  the  men,  following  their  example,  took  off 
their  coats  and  sat  in  their  shirt-sleeves. 
Whereupon  ensued  much  banter  of  a  not  par- 
ticularly edifying  kind  respecting  the  garments 
which  each  person  would  like  to  remove — 
which  showed  that  the  innuendo  of  French 
farce  is  not  so  unknown  to  the  upright,  honest 
Englishman  as  might  be  supposed. 

At  last  came  in  sight  the  half-way  house 
where  the  horses  were  to  have  a  rest  and  a 
sponge  down.  They  had  been  talking  of  it 
for  the  last  quarter  of  a  mile,  and  when  at 
length  it  was  observed  on  the  top  of  a  hill 
a  cheer  broke  out,  and  some  thirsty  wag  be- 
gan to  sing  "Rule  Britannia,"  whilst  others 
burst  forth  with  a  different  national  ditty, 
"Beer,  Glorious  Beer!"  They  drew  up  before 
the  pub  entrance,  and  all  climbed  down  as 
quickly  as  they  could.  The  bar  was  besieged, 
and  potmen  and  barmaids  were  quickly  busy 


60  Liza  of  Lambeth 

drawing  beer  and  handing  it  over  to  the  eager 
folk  outside. 

THE  IDYLL  OF  CORYDON  AND  PHYLLIS. 

Gallantry  ordered  that  the  faithful  swain 
and  the  amorous  shepherdess  should  drink  out 
of  one  and  the  same  pot. 

'  'Urry  up  an'  'ave  your  whack,"  said  Cory- 
don,  politely  handing  the  foaming  bowl  for 
his  fair  one  to  drink  from. 

Phyllis,  without  replying,  raised  it  to  her 
lips  and  drank  deep.  The  swain  watched 
anxiously. 

"'Ere,  give  us  a  chanst!"  he  said,  as  the 
pot  was  raised  higher  and  higher  and  its  con- 
tents appeared  to  be  getting  less  and  less. 

At  this  the  amorous  shepherdess  stopped 
and  handed  the  pot  to  her  lover. 

"Well,  I'm  dashed!"  said  Corydon,  looking 
into  it;  and  added,  "I  guess  you  know  a  thing 
or  two."  Then  with  courtly  grace  putting  his 
own  lips  to  the  place  where  had  been  those  of 
his  beloved,  finished  the  pint. 

"Go*  lumme!"  remarked  the  shepherdess, 
smacking  her  lips,  "that  was  somethin'  like!" 


Liza  of  Lambeth  61 

And  she  put  out  her  tongue  and  licked  her 
lips,  and  then  breathed  deeply. 

The  faithful  swain  having  finished,  gave  a 
long  sigh,  and  said: 

"Well,  I  could  do  with  some  more!" 

"For  the  matter  of  thet,  I  could  do  with  a 
gargle!" 

Thus  encouraged,  the  gallant  returned  to 
the  bar,  and  soon  brought  out  a  second  pint. 

"You  'ave  fust  pop,"  amorously  remarked 
Phyllis,  and  he  took  a  long  drink  and  handed 
the  pot  to  her. 

She,  with  maiden  modesty,  turned  it  so  as 
to  have  a  different  part  to  drink  from;  but  he 
remarked  as  he  saw  her: 

"You  are  bloomin'  particular." 

Then,  unwilling  to  grieve  him,  she  turned  it 
back  again  and  applied  her  ruby  lips  to  the 
place  where  his  had  been. 

"Now  we  sha'n't  be  long!"  she  remarked,  as 
she  handed  him  back  the  pot. 

The  faithful  swain  took  out  of  his  pocket  a 
short  clay  pipe,  blew  through  it,  filled  it,  and 
began  to  smoke,  while  Phyllis  sighed  at  the 
thought  of  the  cool  liquid  gliding  down  her 


62  Liza  of  Lambeth 

throat,  and  with  the  pleasing  recollection 
gently  stroked  her  stomach.  Then  Cory  don 
spat,  and  immediately  his  love  said: 

"I  can  spit  farther  than  thet." 

"I  bet  yer  yer  can't." 

She  tried,  and  did.  He  collected  himself 
and  spat  again,  further  than  before,  she  fol- 
lowed him,  and  in  this  idyllic  contest  they  re- 
mained till  the  tootling  horn  warned  them  to 
take  their  places 

At  last  they  reached  Chingford,  and  here 
the  horses  were  taken  out  and  the  drag,  on 
which  they  were  to  lunch,  drawn  up  in  a  shel- 
tered spot.  They  were  all  rather  hungry,  but 
as  it  was  not  yet  feeding-time  they  scattered 
to  have  drinks  meanwhile.  Liza  and  Tom, 
with  Sally  and  her  young  man,  went  off  to- 
gether to  the  nearest  public-house,  and  as  they 
drank  beer  Harry,  who  was  a  great  sportsman, 
gave  them  a  graphic  account  of  a  prize-fight 
he  had  seen  on  the  previous  Saturday  evening, 
which  had  been  rendered  specially  memorable 
by  one  man  being  so  hurt  that  he  had  died  from 
the  effects.  It  had  evidently  been  a  very  fine 


Liza  of  Lambeth   63 

affair,  and  Harry  said  that  several  swells  from 
the  West  End  had  been  present,  and  he  related 
their  ludicrous  efforts  to  get  in  without  being 
seen  by  any  one,  and  their  terror  when  some 
one  to  frighten  them  called  out  "Copper!" 
Then  Tom  and  he  entered  into  a  discussion  on 
the  subject  of  boxing,  in  which  Tom,  being  a 
shy  and  undogmatic  sort  of  person,  was  en- 
tirely worsted.  After  this  they  strolled  back 
to  the  brake,  and  found  things  being  prepared 
for  luncheon;  the  hampers  were  brought  out 
and  emptied,  and  the  bottles  of  beer  in  great 
profusion  made  many  a  thirsty  mouth  thirstier. 

"Come  along,  lidies  an'  gentlemen — if  you 
are  gentlemen,"  shouted  the  coachman;  "the 
animals  is  now  goin'  ter  be  fed!" 

"Garn  awy,"  answered  somebody,  "we're 
not  hanimals;  we  don't  drink  water." 

"You're  too  clever,"  remarked  the  coach- 
man; "I  can  see  you've  just  come  from  the 
board  school." 

As  the  former  speaker  was  a  lady  of  quite 
mature  appearance,  the  remark  was  not  with- 
out its  little  irony.  The  other  man  blew  his 


64  Liza  of  Lambeth 

horn  by  way  of  grace,  at  which  Liza  called  out 
to  him: 

"Don't  do  thet ;  you'll  bust,  I  know  you  will, 
an'  if  you  bust  you'll  quite  spoil  my  dinner !" 

Then  they  all  set  to.  Pork-pies,  saveloys, 
sausages,  cold  potatoes,  hard-boiled  eggs, 
cold  bacon,  veal,  ham,  crabs  and  shrimps, 
cheese,  butter,  cold  suet-puddings  and  treacle, 
gooseberry-tarts,  cherry-tarts,  butter,  bread, 
more  sausages,  and  yet  again  pork-pies !  They 
devoured  the  provisions  like  ravening  beasts, 
stolidly,  silently,  earnestly,  in  large  mouthfuls 
which  they  shoved  down  their  throats  unmasti- 
cated.  The  intelligent  foreigner  seeing  them 
thus  dispose  of  their  food  would  have  under- 
stood why  England  is  a  great  nation.  He 
would  have  understood  why  Britons  never, 
never  will  be  slaves.  They  never  stopped  ex- 
cept to  drink,  and  then  at  each  gulp  they 
emptied  their  glass;  no  heel-taps!  And  still 
they  ate,  and  still  they  drank — but  as  all  things 
must  cease,  they  stopped  at  last,  and  a  long 
sigh  of  content  broke  from  their  two-and-thirty 
throats. 

Then  the  gathering  broke  up,  and  the  good 


Liza  of  Lambeth  65 

folk  paired  themselves  and  separated.  Harry 
and  his  lady  strolled  off  to  secluded  byways 
in  the  forest,  so  that  they  might  discourse  of 
their  loves  and  digest  their  dinner.  Tom  had 
all  the  morning  been  waiting  for  this  happy 
moment;  he  had  counted  on  the  expansive 
effect  of  a  full  stomach  to  thaw  his  Liza's  cold- 
ness, and  he  had  pictured  himself  sitting  on 
the  grass  with  his  back  against  the  trunk  of  a 
spreading  chestnut-tree,  with  his  arm  round 
his  Liza's  waist,  and  her  head  resting  affection- 
ately on  his  manly  bosom.  Liza  too  had  fore- 
seen the  separation  into  couples  after  dinner, 
and  had  been  racking  her  brains  to  find  a  means 
of  getting  out  of  it. 

"I  don't  want  'im  slobberin'  abaht  me,"  she 
said;  "it  gives  me  the  sick,  all  this  kissin'  an' 
cuddlin'!" 

She  scarcely  knew  why  she  objected  to  his 
caresses;  but  they  bored  her  and  made  her 
cross.  But  luckily  the  blessed  institution  of 
marriage  came  to  her  rescue,  for  Jim  and  his 
wife  naturally  had  no  particular  desire  to 
spend  the  afternoon  together,  and  Liza,  see- 
ing a  little  embarrassment  on  their  part,  pro- 


66  Liza  of  Lambeth 

posed  that  they  should  go  for  a  walk  together 
in  the  Forest. 

Jim  agreed  at  once,  and  with  pleasure;  but 
Tom  was  dreadfully  disappointed.  He  hadn't 
the  courage  to  say  anything,  but  he  glared  at 
Blakeston.  Jim  smiled  benignly  at  him,  and 
Tom  began  to  sulk.  Then  they  began  a  funny 
walk  through  the  woods.  Jim  tried  to  go  on 
with  Liza,  and  Liza  was  not  at  all  disinclined 
to  this,  for  she  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
Jim,  notwithstanding  his  "cheek,"  was  not 
"  'alf  a  bad  sort."  But  Tom  kept  walking 
alongside  of  them,  and  as  Jim  slightly  quick- 
ened his  pace  so  as  to  get  Liza  on  in  front, 
Tom  quickened  his,  and  Mrs.  Blakeston,  who 
didn't  want  to  be  left  behind,  had  to  break  into 
a  little  trot  to  keep  up  with  them.  Jim  tried 
also  to  get  Liza  all  to  himself  in  the  conversa- 
tion, and  let  Tom  see  that  he  was  out  in  the 
cold,  but  Tom  would  break  in  with  cross,  sulky 
remarks,  just  to  make  the  others  uncomfort- 
able. Liza  at  last  got  rather  vexed  with  him. 

"Strikes  me  you  got  aht  of  bed  the  wrong 
way  this  mornin',"  she  said  to  him. 

"LYer  didn't  think  thet  when  yer  said  you'd 


Liza  of  Lambeth  67 

come  aht  with  me."    He  emphasized  the  "me.'* 

Liza  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"You  give  me  the  'ump,"  she  said.  "If  yer 
wants  ter  mike  a  fool  of  yerself,  you  can  go 
elsewhere  an'  do  it." 

"I  suppose  yer  want  me  ter  go  awy  now,"  he 
said,  angrily. 

"I  didn't  say  I  did." 

"Arright,  Liza,  I  won't  stay  where  I'm  not 
wanted."  And  turning  on  his  heel  he  marched 
off,  striking  through  the  underwood  into  the 
midst  of  the  Forest. 

He  felt  extremely  unhappy  as  he  wandered 
on,  and  there  was  a  choky  feeling  in  his  throat 
as  he  thought  of  Liza :  she  was  very  unkind  and 
ungrateful,  and  he  wished  he  had  never  come 
to  Chingford.  She  might  so  easily  have  come 
for  a  walk  with  him  instead  of  going  with  that 
beast  of  a  Blakeston;  she  wouldn't  ever  do 
anything  for  him,  and  he  hated  her — but  all  the 
same  he  was  a  poor  foolish  thing  in  love,  and 
he  began  to  feel  that  perhaps  he  had  been  a 
little  exacting  and  a  little  forward  to  take 
offence.  And  then  he  wished  he  had  never 
said  anything,  and  he  wanted  so  much  to  see 


68  Liza  of  Lambeth 

her  and  make  it  up.  He  made  his  way  back  to 
Chingford,  hoping  she  would  not  make  him 
wait  too  long. 

Liza  was  a  little  surprised  when  Tom  turned 
and  left  them. 

"Wot  'as  'e  got  the  needle  abaht?"  she  said. 

"Why  'e's  jealous,"  answered  Jim,  with  a 
laugh. 

"Tom  jealous?" 

"Yus;  'e's  jealous  of  me." 

"Well,  'e  ain't  got  no  cause  ter  be  jealous  of 
any  one — that  'e  ain't!"  said  Liza,  and  con- 
tinued by  telling  him  all  about  Tom:  how  he 
had  wanted  to  marry  her  and  she  wouldn't  have 
him,  and  how  she  had  only  agreed  to  come  to 
Chingford  with  him  on  the  understanding  that 
she  should  preserve  her  entire  freedom.  Jim 
listened  sympathetically,  but  his  wife  paid  no 
attention;  she  was  doubtless  engaged  in 
thought  respecting  her  household  or  her 
family. 

When  they  got  back  to  Chingford  they  saw 
Tom  standing  in  solitude  looking  at  them. 
Liza  was  struck  by  the  woebegone  expression 


Liza  of  Lambeth  69 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^™ ^^^^"""•""•"••"— •"•••'•^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

on  his  face ;  she  felt  she  had  been  cruel  to  him, 
and  leaving  the  Blakestons  went  up  to  him. 

"I  say,  Tom,"  she  said,  "don't  tike  on  so; 
I  didn't  mean  it." 

He  was  bursting  to  apologise  for  his  be- 
haviour. 

"Yer  know,  Tom,"  she  went  on,  "I'm  rather 
'asty,  an'  I'm  sorry  I  said  wot  I  did." 

"Oh,  Liza,  you  are  good!  You  ain't  cross 
with  me?" 

"Me?    Na;  it's  you  thet  oughter  be  cross.'* 

"You  are  a  good  sort,  Liza!" 

"You  ain't  vexed  with  me?" 

"Give  me  Liza  every  time;  that's  wot  I  say," 
he  answered.,  as  his  face  lit  up.  "Come  along 
an'  'ave  tea,  an'  then  we'll  go  for  a  donkey- 
ride." 

The  donkey-ride  was  a  great  success.  Liza 
was  a  little  afraid  at  first,  so  Tom  walked  by 
her  side  to  take  care  of  her;  she  screamed  the 
moment  the  beast  began  to  trot,  and  clutched 
hold  of  Tom  to  save  herself  from  falling,  and 
as  he  felt  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  heard 
her  appealingly  cry,  "Oh,  do  'old  me!  I'm 
fallin'!"  he  felt  that  he  had  never  in  his  life 


70  Liza  of  Lambeth 

been  so  deliriously  happy.  The  whole  party 
joined  in,  and  it  was  proposed  that  they  should 
have  races ;  but  in  the  first  heat,  when  the  don- 
keys broke  into  a  canter,  Liza  fell  off  into 
Tom's  arms  and  the  donkey  scampered  on 
without  her. 

"I  know  wot  I'll  do,"  she  said,  when  the  run- 
away had  been  recovered,  "111  ride  'im  strad- 
dlewyse." 

"Garn!"  said  Sally,  "yer  can't  with  petti- 
coats." 

"Yus,  I  can;  an'  I  will  too!" 

So  another  donkey  was  procured,  this  time 
with  a  man's  saddle,  and  putting  her  foot  in 
the  stirrup,  she  cocked  her  leg  over  and  took 
her  seat  triumphantly.  Neither  modesty  nor 
bashfulness  was  to  be  reckoned  among  Liza's 
faults,  and  in  this  position  she  felt  quite  at 
ease. 

"I'll  get  along  arright  now,  Tom,"  she  said; 
"you  garn  and  git  yerself  a  moke,  and  come  an' 
jine  in." 

The  next  race  was  perfectly  uproarious. 
Liza  kicked  and  beat  her  donkey  with  all  her 
might,  shrieking  and  laughing  the  while,  and 


Liza  of  Lambeth  71 

finally  came  in  winner  by  a  length.  After  that 
they  felt  rather  warm  and  dry,  and  repaired  to 
the  public-house  to  restore  themselves  and  talk 
over  the  excitements  of  the  racecourse. 

When  they  had  drunk  several  pints  of  beer 
Liza  and  Sally,  with  their  respective  adorers 
and  the  Blakestons,  walked  round  to  find 
other  means  of  amusing  themselves ;  they  were 
arrested  by  a  cocoanut-shy. 

"Oh,  let's  'ave  a  shy!"  said  Liza,  excitedly, 
at  which  the  unlucky  men  had  to  pull  out  their 
coppers,  while  Sally  and  Liza  made  ludicrously 
bad  shots  at  the  cocoanuts. 

"It  looks  so  bloomin'  easy,"  said  Liza,  brush- 
ing up  her  hair,  "but  I  can't  'it  the  blasted 
thing.  You  'ave  a  shot,  Tom." 

He  and  Harry  were  equally  unskilful,  but 
Jim  got  three  cocoanuts  running,  and  the  pro- 
prietors of  the  show  began  to  look  on  him  with 
some  concern. 

"You  are  a  dab  at  it,"  said  Liza,  in  ad- 
miration. 

They  tried  to  induce  Mrs.  Blakeston  to  try 
her  luck,  but  she  stoutly  refused. 


72  Liza  of  Lambeth 

"I  don't  'old  with  such  foolishness.  It's 
wiste  of  money  ter  me,"  she  said. 

"Na  then,  don]t  crack  on,  old  tart,"  re- 
marked her  husband,  "let's  go  an'  eat  the  cocoa- 
nuts." 

There  was  one  for  each  couple,  and  after 
the  ladies  had  sucked  the  juice  they  divided 
them  and  added  their  respective  shares  to  their 
dinners  and  teas.  Supper  came  next.  Again 
they  fell  to  sausage-rolls,  boiled  eggs,  and 
saveloys,  and  countless  bottles  of  beer  were 
added  to  those  already  drunk. 

"I  dunno  'ow  many  bottles  of  beer  I've 
drunk — I've  lost  count,"  said  Liza;  whereat 
there  was  a  general  laugh. 

They  still  had  an  hour  before  the  brake  was 
to  start  back,  and  it  was  then  the  concertinas 
came  in  useful.  They  sat  down  on  the  grass, 
and  the  concert  was  begun  by  Harry,  who 
played  a  solo ;  then  there  was  a  call  for  a  song, 
and  Jim  stood  up  and  sang  that  ancient  ditty, 
"O  dem  Golden  Kippers,  O."  There  was  no 
shyness  in  the  company,  and  Liza,  almost  with- 
out being  asked,  gave  another  popular  comic 
song.  Then  there  was  more  concertina  play- 


Liza  of  Lambeth  73 

ing,  and  another  demand  for  a  song.  Liza 
turned  to  Tom,  who  was  sitting  quietly  by 
her  side. 

"Give  us  a  song,  old  cock,"  she  said. 

"I  can't,"  he  answered.  "I'm  not  a  singin' 
sort."  At  which  Blakeston  got  up  and  offered 
to  sing  again. 

"Tom  is  rather  a  soft,"  said  Liza  to  herself, 
"not  like  that  cove  Blakeston." 

They  repaired  to  the  public-house  to  have  a 
few  last  drinks  before  the  brake  started,  and 
when  the  horn  blew  to  warn  them,  rather  un- 
steadily, they  proceeded  to  take  their  places. 

Liza,  as  she  scrambled  up  the  steps,  said, 
"Well,  I  believe  I'm  boozed." 

The  coachman  had  arrived  at  the  melan- 
choly stage  of  intoxication,  and  was  sitting  on 
his  box  holding  his  reins,  with  his  head  bent 
on  his  chest.  He  was  thinking  sadly  of  the 
long-lost  days  of  his  youth,  and  wishing  he  had 
been  a  better  man. 

Liza  had  no  respect  for  such  holy  emotions, 
and  she  brought  down  her  fist  on  the  crown  of 
his  hat,  and  bashed  it  over  his  eyes. 


74  Liza  of  Lambeth 

"Na  then,  old  jellybelly,"  she  said,  "wot's 
the  good  of  'avin'  a  fice  as  long  as  a  kite?" 

He  turned  round  and  smote  her. 

"Jellybelly  yerself !"  said  he. 

"Puddin'  fice!"  she  cried. 

"Kite  fice!" 

"Boss  eye!" 

She  was  tremendously  excited,  laughing  and 
singing,  keeping  the  whole  company  in  an 
uproar.  In  her  jollity  she  had  changed  hats 
with  Tom,  and  he  in  her  big  feathers  made  her 
shriek  with  laughter.  When  they  started  they 
began  to  sing  "For  Vs  a  jolly  good  feller," 
making  the  night  resound  with  their  noisy 
voices. 

Liza  and  Tom  and  the  Blakestons  had  got  a 
seat  together,  Liza  being  between  the  two  men. 
Tom  was  perfectly  happy,  and  only  wished 
that  they  might  go  on  so  for  ever.  Gradually 
as  they  drove  along  they  became  quieter,  their 
singing  ceased,  and  they  talked  in  undertones. 
Some  of  them  slept ;  Sally  and  her  young  man 
were  leaning  up  against  one  another  slumber- 
ing quite  peacefully.  The  night  was  beautiful, 
the  sky  still  blue,  very  dark,  scattered  over 


Liza  of  Lambeth  75 

with  countless  brilliant  stars,  and  Liza,  as  she 
looked  up  at  the  heavens,  felt  a  certain  emo- 
tion, as  if  she  wished  to  be  taken  in  some  one's 
arms,  or  feel  some  strong  man's  caresses;  and 
there  was  in  her  heart  a  strange  sensation  as 
though  it  were  growing  big.  She  stopped 
speaking,  and  all  four  were  silent.  Then 
slowly  she  felt  Tom's  arm  steal  round  her 
waist,  cautiously,  as  though  it  were  afraid  of 
being  there ;  this  time  both  she  and  Tom  were 
happy.  But  suddenly  there  was  a  movement 
on  the  other  side  of  her,  a  hand  was  advanced 
along  her  leg,  and  her  hand  was  grasped  and 
gently  pressed.  It  was  Jim  Blakeston.  She 
started  a  little  and  began  trembling  so  that 
Tom  noticed  it,  and  whispered: 

"You're  cold,  Liza." 

"Na,  I'm  not,  Tom;  it's  only  a  sort  of  shiver 
thet  went  through  me." 

His  arm  gave  her  waist  a  squeeze,  and  at 
the  same  time  the  big  rough  hand  pressed  her 
little  one.  And  so  she  sat  between  them  till 
they  reached  the  "Red  Lion"  in  the  Westmin- 
ster Bridge  Road,  and  Tom  said  to  himself,  "I 
believe  she  does  care  for  me  after  all." 


76  Liza  of  Lambeth 

When  they  got  down  they  all  said  good- 
night, and  Sally  and  Liza,  with  their  respective 
slaves  and  the  Blakestons,  marched  off  home- 
wards. At  the  corner  of  Vere  Street  Harry 
said  to  Tom  and  Blakeston: 

"I  say,  you  blokes,  let's  go  an'  'ave  another 
drink  before  closin'  time." 

"I  don't  mind,"  said  Tom,  "after  we've  took 
the  gals  'ome." 

"Then  we  sha'n't  'ave  time;  it's  just  on 
closin'  time  now,"  answered  Harry. 

"Well,  we  can't  leave  'em  'ere." 

"Yus,  you  can,"  said  Sally.  ""No  one'll 
run  awy  with  us." 

Tom  did  not  want  to  part  from  Liza,  but  she 
broke  in  with : 

"Yus,  go  on,  Tom.  Sally  an'  me'll  git  along 
arright ;  an'  you  ain't  got  too  much  time." 

"Yus,  good-night,  'Arry,"  said  Sally,  to 
settle  the  matter. 

"Good-night,  old  gal,"  he  answered,  "give 
us  another  slobber." 

And  she,  not  at  all  unwilling,  surrendered 
herself  to  him,  while  he  imprinted  two  sound- 
ing kisses  on  her  cheeks. 


Liza  of  Lambeth  77 

"Good-night,  Tom,"  said  Liza,  holding  out 
her  hand. 

"Good-night,  Liza,"  he  answered,  taking  it, 
but  looking  very  wistfully  at  her. 

She  understood,  and  with  a  kindly  smile 
lifted  up  her  face  to  him.  He  bent  down, 
and  taking  her  in  his  arms  kissed  her  pas- 
sionately. 

"You  do  kiss  nice,  Liza,"  he  said,  making 
the  others  laugh. 

"Thanks  for  tikin'  me  aht,  old  man,"  she 
said  as  they  parted. 

"Arright,  Liza,"  he  answered,  and  added,  al- 
most to  himself,  "God  bless  yer!" 

"  'Ulloa,  Blakeston,  ain't  you  comin'?"  said 
Harry,  seeing  that  Jim  was  walking  off  with 
his  wife  instead  of  joining  him  and  Tom. 

"Na,"  he  answered,  "I'm  goin'  'ome.  I've 
got  ter  be  up  at  five  ter-morrer." 

"You  are  a  chap !"  said  Harry,  disgustedly, 
strolling  off  with  Tom  to  the  pub,  while  the 
others  made  their  way  down  the  sleeping  street. 

The  house  where  Sally  lived  came  first,  and 
she  left  them ;  then,  walking  a  few  yards  more, 
they  came  to  the  Blakestons',  and  after  a  little 


78  Liza  of  Lambeth 

talk  at  the  door  Liza  bade  the  couple  good- 
night, and  was  left  to  walk  the  rest  of  the  way 
alone.  The  street  was  perfectly  silent,  and  the 
lamp-posts,  far  apart,  threw  a  dim  light  which 
only  served  to  make  Liza  realise  her  solitude. 
There  was  such  a  difference  between  the  street 
at  midday,  with  its  swarms  of  people,  and  now, 
when  there  was  neither  sound  nor  soul  besides 
herself,  that  even  she  was  struck  by  it.  The 
regular  line  of  houses  on  either  side,  with  the 
even  pavements  and  straight,  cemented  road, 
seemed  to  her  like  some  desert  place,  as  if  every 
one  were  dead,  or  a  fire  had  raged  and  left  it 
all  desolate.  Suddenly  she  heard  a  footstep; 
she  started  and  looked  back.  It  was  a  man 
hurrying  behind  her,  and  in  a  moment  she  had 
recognised  Jim.  He  beckoned  to  her,  and  in  a 
low  voice  called: 

"Liza!" 

She  stopped  till  he  had  come  up  to  her. 

"Wot  'ave  yer  come  aht  again  for?"  she  said. 

"I've  come  aht  ter  say  good-night  to  you, 
Liza,"  he  answered. 

"But  yer  said  good-night  a  moment  ago." 

"I  wanted  ter  say  it  again — properly." 


Liza  of  Lambeth  79 

"Where's  yer  missus?" 

"Oh,  she's  gone  in.  I  said  I  was  dry  and 
was  goin'  ter  'ave  a  drink  after  all." 

"But  she'll  know  yer  didn't  go  ter  the  pub." 

"Na,  she  won't;  she's  gone  straight  up- 
stairs to  see  after  the  kid.  I  wanted  ter  see 
yer  alone,  Liza." 

"Why?" 

He  didn't  answer,  but  tried  to  take  hold  of 
her  hand.  She  drew  it  away  quickly.  They 
walked  in  silence  till  they  came  to  Liza's  house. 

"Good-night,"  said  Liza. 

"Won't  you  come  for  a  little  walk,  Liza?" 

"Tike  care  no  one  'ears  you,"  she  said,  in  a 
whisper,  though  why  she  whispered  she  did  not 
know. 

"Will  yer?"  he  asked  again. 

"Na — you've  got  to  get  up  at  five." 

"Oh,  I  only  said  thet  not  ter  go  inter  the 
pub  with  them." 

"So  as  yer  might  come  'ere  with  me?"  asked 
Liza. 

"Yus!" 

"No,  I'm  not  comin'.    Good-night." 

"Well,  say  good-night  nicely." 


8o  Liza  of  Lambeth 

"Wot  d'yer  mean?" 

"Tom  said  you  did  kiss  nice." 

She  looked  at  him  without  speaking,  and  in 
a  moment  he  had  clasped  his  arms  round  her, 
almost  lifting  her  off  her  feet,  and  kissed  her. 
She  turned  her  face  away. 

"Give  us  yer  lips,  Liza,"  he  whispered — 
"give  us  yer  lips." 

He  turned  her  face  without  resistance  and 
kissed  her  on  the  mouth. 

At  last  she  tore  herself  from  him,  and  open- 
ing the  door  slid  away  into  the  house. 


Chapter  Six 

NEXT  morning  on  her  way  to  the  factory 
Liza  came  up  with  Sally.  They  were 
both  of  them  rather  stale  and  bedraggled  after 
the  day's  outing ;  their  fringes  were  ragged  and 
untidily  straying  over  their  foreheads,  their 
back  hair,  carelessly  tied  in  a  loose  knot,  fell 
over  their  necks  and  threatened  completely  to 
come  down.  Liza  had  not  had  time  to  put  her 
hat  on,  and  was  holding  it  in  her  hand.  Sally's 
was  pinned  on  sideways,  and  she  had  to  bash 
it  down  on  her  head  every  now  and  then  to  pre- 
vent its  coming  off.  Cinderella  herself  was 
not  more  transformed  than  they  were;  but 
Cinderella  even  in  her  rags  was  virtuously  tidy 
and  patched  up,  while  Sally  had  a  great  tear 
in  her  shabby  dress,  and  Liza's  stockings  were 
falling  over  her  boots. 

"Wot   cheer,    Sal!"    said   Liza,   when    she 
caught  her  up. 

"Oh,  I  'ave  got  sich  a  'ead  on  me  this  morn- 
Si 


82  Liza  of  Lambeth 

in'!"  she  remarked,  turning  round  a  pale  face 
heavily  lined  under  the  eyes. 

"I  don't  feel  too  chirpy  neither,"  said  Liza, 
sympathetically. 

"I  wish  I  'adn't  drunk  so  much  beer,"  added 
Sally,  as  a  pang  shot  through  her  head. 

"Oh,  you'll  be  arright  in  a  bit,"  said  Liza. 
Just  then  they  heard  the  clock  strike  eight, 
and  they  began  to  run  so  that  they  might  not 
miss  getting  their  tokens  and  thereby  their 
day's  pay;  they  turned  into  the  street  at  the 
end  of  which  was  the  factory,  and  saw  half  a 
hundred  women  running  like  themselves  to  get 
in  before  it  was  too  late. 

All  the  morning  Liza  worked  in  a  dead-and- 
alive  sort  of  fashion,  her  head  like  a  piece  of 
lead  with  electric  shocks  going  through  it  when 
she  moved,  and  her  tongue  and  mouth  hot  and 
dry.  At  last  lunch-time  came. 

"Come  on,  Sal,"  said  Liza;  "I'm  goin'  to 
'ave  a  glass  o'  bitter.  I  can't  stand  this  no 
longer." 

So  they  entered  the  public-house  opposite, 
and  in  one  draught  finished  their  pots.  Liza 
gave  a  long  sigh  of  relief. 


Liza  of  Lambeth  83 

"That  bucks  you  up,  don't  it?" 

"I  was  dry !  I  ain't  told  yer  yet,  Liza,  'ave 
I  ?  'E  got  it  aht  last  night." 

" Who  d'yer  mean?" 

"Why,  'Any.    'E  spit  it  aht  at  last." 

"Arst  yer  ter  nime  the  day?"  said  Liza, 
smiling. 

"Thet's  it." 

"And  did  yer?" 

"Didn't  I  jest!"  answered  Sally,  with  some 
emphasis.  "I  always  told  yer  I'd  git  off  be- 
fore you." 

"Yus!"  said  Liza,  thinking. 

"Yer  know,  Liza,  you'd  better  tike  Tom; 
'e  ain't  a  bad  sort."  She  was  quite  patronising. 

"I'm  goin'  ter  tike  'oo  I  like;  an'  it  ain't  no- 
body's business  but  mine." 

"Arright,  Liza,  don't  get  shirty  over  it;  I 
don't  mean  no  offence." 

"What  d'yer  say  it  for  then?" 

"Well,  I  thought  as  seeing  as  yer'd  gone  aht 
with  'im  yesterday  thet  yer  meant  ter  after 
all." 

'  'E  wanted  ter  tike  me;  I  didn't  arsk  'im.'* 

"Well,  I  didn't  arsk  my  'Any,  either." 


84  Liza  of  Lambeth 

"I  never  said  yer  did,"  replied  Liza. 

"Oh,  you've  got  the  'limp,  you  'ave!"  finished 
Sally,  rather  angrily. 

The  beer  had  restored  Liza;  she  went  back 
to  work  without  a  headache,  and,  except  for  a 
slight  languor,  feeling  no  worse  for  the  previ- 
ous day's  debauch.  As  she  worked  on  she 
began  going  over  in  her  mind  the  events  of 
the  preceding  day,  and  she  found  entwined 
in  all  her  thoughts  the  burly  person  of  Jim 
Blakeston.  She  saw  him  walking  by  her  side 
in  the  Forest,  presiding  over  the  meals,  play- 
ing the  concertina,  singing,  joking;  and  finally, 
on  the  drive  back,  she  felt  the  heavy  form  by 
her  side,  and  the  big,  rough  hand  holding  hers, 
while  Tom's  arm  was  round  her  waist.  Tom! 
That  was  the  first  time  he  had  entered  her 
mind,  and  he  sank  into  a  shadow  beside  the 
other.  Last  of  all  she  remembered  the  walk 
home  from  the  pub,  the  good-nights,  and  the 
rapid  footstep  as  Jim  caught  her  up,  and  the 
kiss.  She  blushed  and  looked  up  quickly  to  see 
whether  any  of  the  girls  were  looking  at  her; 
she  could  not  help  thinking  of  that  moment 
when  he  took  her  in  his  arms ;  she  still  felt  the 


Liza  of  Lambeth  85 

roughness  of  his  beard  pressing  on  her  mouth. 
Her  heart  seemed  to  grow  larger  in  her  breast, 
and  she  caught  for  breath  as  she  threw  back 
her  head  as  if  to  receive  his  lips  again.  A 
shudder  ran  through  her  from  the  vividness 
of  the  thought. 

"Wot  are  you  shiverin'  for,  Liza?"  asked 
one  of  the  girls.  "You  ain't  cold." 

"Not  much,"  answered  Liza,  blushing  awk- 
wardly on  her  meditations  being  broken  into. 
"Why,  I'm  sweatin'  so — I'm  drippin'  wet." 

"I  expect  yer  caught  cold  in  the  Faurest 
yesterday." 

"I  see  your  mash  as  I  was  comin'  along 
this  mornin'." 

Liza  started  a  little. 

"I  ain't  got  one;  'oo  d'yer  mean,  ay?" 

"Yer  only  Tom,  of  course.  'E  did  look 
washed  aht.  Wot  was  yer  doin'  with  'im 
yesterday?" 

"  'E  ain't  got  nothing  ter  do  with  me,  'e 
ain't." 

"Garn;  don't  you  tell  me!" 

The  bell  rang,  and,  (throwing  over  thjeir 
work,  the  girls  trooped  off,  and  after  chatter- 


86  Liza  of  Lambeth 

ing  in  groups  outside  the  factory  gates  for  a 
while,  made  their  way  in  different  directions 
to  their  respective  homes.  Liza  and  Sally 
went  along  together. 

"I  sy,  we  are  comin'  aht!"  cried  Sally,  see- 
ing the  advertisement  of  a  play  being  acted 
at  the  neighbouring  theatre. 

"I  should  like  ter  see  thet!"  said  Liza,  as 
they  stood  arm  in  arm  in  front  of  the  flaring 
poster.  It  represented  two  rooms  and  a  pas- 
sage in  between;  in  one  room  a  dead  man  was 
lying  on  the  floor,  while  two  others  were  stand- 
ing horror-stricken,  listening  to  a  youth  who 
was  in  the  passage,  knocking  at  the  door. 

"You  see,  they've  killed  3im,"  said  Sally, 
excitedly. 

"Yus,  any  fool  can  see  thet!  an'  the  one 
ahtside,  wot's  'e  doin'  of?" 

"Ain't  'e  beautiful?  I'll  git  my  'Arry  ter 
tike  me,  I  will.  I  should  like  ter  see  it.  'E 
said  'e'd  tike  me  to  the  ply." 

They  strolled  on  again,  and  Liza,  leaving 
Sally,  made  her  way  to  her  mother's.  She 
knew  she  must  pass  Jim's  house,  and  wondered 
whether  she  would  see  him.  But  as  she  walked 


Liza  of  Lambeth  87 

along  the  street  she  saw  Tom  coming  the  op- 
posite way;  with  a  sudden  impulse  she  turned 
back  so  as  not  to  meet  him,  and  began  walking 
the  way  she  had  come.  Then  thinking  herself 
a  fool  for  what  she  had  done,  she  turned  again 
and  walked  towards  him.  She  wondered  if 
he  had  seen  her  or  noticed  her  movement,  but 
when  she  looked  down  the  street  he  was  no- 
where to  be  seen;  he  had  not  caught  sight  of 
her,  and  had  evidently  gone  in  to  see  a  mate  in 
one  or  other  of  the  houses.  She  quickened  her 
step,  and  passing  the  house  where  lived  Jim, 
could  not  help  looking  up ;  he  was  standing  at 
the  door  watching  her,  with  a  smile  on  his  lips. 

"I  didn't  see  yer,  Mr.  Blakeston,"  she  said, 
as  he  came  up  to  her. 

"Didn't  yer?     Well,  I  knew  yer  would;  an' 
before  ter-day." 
I  was  witin'  for  yer  ter  look  up.     I  see  yer 

"Na,  when?" 

"I  passed  be'ind  yer  as  you  an'  thet  other 
girl  was  lookin'  at  the  advertisement  of  thet 

ply." 

"I  never  see  yer." 


Liza  of  Lambeth 


"Na,  I  know  yer  didn't.  I  'ear  yer  say,  you 
says,  'I  should  like  to  see  thet.' ' 

"Yus,  an'  I  should  too." 

"Well,  I'll  tike  yer." 

"You?" 

"Yus;  why  not?" 

"I  like  thet;  wot  would  yer  missus  sy?" 

"She  wouldn't  know." 

"But  the  neighbours  would!" 

"No,  they  wouldn't;  no  one  'd  see  us." 

He  was  speaking  in  a  low  voice  so  that  peo- 
ple could  not  hear. 

"You  could  meet  me  ahtside  the  theatre," 
he  went  on. 

"Na,  I  couldn't  go  with  you ;  you're  a  mar- 
ried man." 

"Garn!  wot's  thet  matter — jest  ter  go  ter 
the  ply?  An'  besides,  my  missus  can't  come 
if  she  wanted ;  she's  got  the  kids  ter  look  after." 

"I  should  like  ter  see  it,"  said  Liza,  medi- 
tatively. 

They  had  reached  her  house,  and  Jim  said — 

"Well,  come  aht  this  evenin'  and  tell  me 
if  yer  will — eh,  Liza?" 

"Na,  I'm  not  comin'  aht  this  evening." 


Liza  of  Lambeth  89 

"Thet  won't  'urt  yer.     I  shall  wite  for  yer." 

"  'Tain't  a  bit  of  good  your  witin',  'cause  I 
sha'n't  come." 

"Well,  then,  look  'ere,  Liza;  next  Saturday 
night's  the  last  night,  an'  I  shall  go  to  the  thea- 
tre, any'ow.  An'  if  you'll  come,  you  just  come 
to  the  doors  at  'alf-past  six,  an'  you'll  find  me 
there.  See?" 

"Na,  I  don't,"  said  Liza,  firmly. 

"Well,  I  shall  expect  yer." 

"I  sha'n't  come,  so  you  needn't  expect." 
And  with  that  she  walked  into  the  house  and 
slammed  the  door  behind  her. 

Her  mother  had  not  come  in  from  her  day's 
charring,  and  Liza  set  about  getting  her  tea. 
She  thought  it  would  be  rather  lonely  eating 
it  alone,  so  pouring  out  a  cup  of  tea  and  put- 
ting a  little  condensed  milk  into  it,  she  cut  a 
huge  piece  of  bread-and-butter,  and  sat  her- 
self down  outside  on  the  doorstep.  Another 
woman  came  downstairs,  and  seeing  Liza,  sat 
down  by  her  side  and  began  to  talk. 

"Why,  Mrs.  Stanley,  wot  'ave  yer  done  to 
your  'ead?"  asked  Liza,  noticing  a  bandage 
round  her  forehead. 


9O  Liza  of  Lambeth 

"  'ad  an  accident  last  night,"  answered  the 
woman,  blushing  uneasily. 

"Oh,  I  am  sorry!  Wot  did  yer  do  to  yer- 
self?" 

"I  fell  against  the  coal-scuttle  and  cut  my 
'ead  open." 

"Well,  I  never!" 

"To  tell  yer  the  truth,  I  'ad  a  few  words 
with  my  old  man.  But  one  doesn't  like  them 
things  ter  git  abaht;  yer  won't  tall  any  one, 
will  yer?" 

"Not  me!"  answered  Liza.  "I  didn't  know 
yer  husband  was  like  thet." 

"Oh,  Vs  as  gentle  as  a  lamb  when  'e's  so- 
ber," said  Mrs.  Stanley,  apologetically.  "But, 
Lor'  bless  yer,  when  'e's  'ad  a  drop  too  much 
'e's  a  demond,  an'  there's  no  two  ways  abaht 
it." 

"An'  you  ain't  been  married  long,  neither?" 
said  Liza. 

"Na,  not  above  eighteen  months;  ain't  it 
disgriceful?  Thet's  wot  the  doctor  at  the 
'orspital  says  ter  me.  I  'ad  ter  go  ter  the 
'orspital.  You  should  have  seen  'ow  it  bled! 
— it  bled  all  dahn  my  fice,  and  went  streamin' 


Liza  of  Lambeth  91 

like  a  bust  water-pipe.  Well,  it  fair  fright- 
ened my  old  man,  an'  I  says  ter  'im,  'I'll  charge 
yer,'  an'  although  I  was  bleedin'  like  a  bloomin' 
pig  I  shook  my  fist  at  'im,  an'  I  says,  'I'll 
charge  yer — see  if  I  don't !'  An'  'e  says,  'Na,' 
says  'e,  'don't  do  thet,  for  God's  sike,  Kitie, 
I'll  git  three  months.'  'An'  serve  yer  damn 
well  right!'  says  I,  an'  I  went  aht  an'  left  'im. 
But,  Lor'  bless  yer,  I  wouldn't  charge  'im! 
I  know  'e  don't  mean  it ;  'e's  as  gentle  as  a  lamb 
when  'e's  sober."  She  smiled  quite  affection- 
ately as  she  said  this. 

"Wot  did  yer  do,  then?"  asked  Liza. 

"Well,  as  I  wos  tellin'  yer,  I  went  to  the 
'orspital,  an'  the  doctor  'e  says  ter  me,  'My 
good  woman,'  says  'e,  'you  might  have  been 
very  seriously  injured.'  An'  me  not  been 
married  eighteen  months !  An'  as  I  was  tellin' 
the  doctor  all  about  it,  'Missus,'  'e  says  ter  me, 
lookin'  at  me  straight  in  the  eyeball,  'Missus/ 
says  'e,  '  'ave  you  been  drinkin'?'  'Drinkin'?' 
says  I;  'no!  I've  'ad  a  little  drop,  but  as  for 
drinkin'!  Mind,'  says  I,  'I  don't  say  I'm  a 
teetotaler — I'm  not;  I  'ave  my  glass  of  beer, 
and  I  like  it.  I  couldn't  do  withaht  it,  wot 


92  Liza  of  Lambeth 

with  the  work  I  'ave,  I  must  'ave  somethin' 
ter  keep  me  tergether.  But  as  for  drinkin' 
'eavily!  Well,  I  can  say  this,  there  ain't  a 
soberer  woman  than  myself  in  all  London. 
Why,  my  fust  'usband  never  touched  a  drop. 
Ah,  my  fust  'usband,  'e  was  a  beauty,  'e  was.' ' 

She  stopped  the  repetition  of  her  conversa- 
tion and  addressed  herself  to  Liza. 

'  'E  was  thet  different  ter  this  one.  'E  was 
a  man  as  'ad  seen  better  days.  'E  was  a  gen- 
tleman!" She  mouthed  the  word  and  empha- 
sised it  with  an  expressive  nod. 

'  'E  was  a  gentleman  and  a  Christian.  'E'd 
been  in  good  circumstances  in  'is  time;  an'  'e 
was  a  man  of  education  and  a  teetotaler  for 
twenty-two  years." 

At  that  moment  Liza's  mother  appeared  on 
the  scene. 

"Good  evenin',  Mrs.  Stanley,"  she  said,  po- 
litely. 

"The  sime  ter  you,  Mrs.  Kemp,"  replied  that 
lady,  with  equal  courtesy. 

"An*  'ow  is  your  poor  'ead?"  asked  Liza's 
mohter,  with  sympathy. 


Liza  of  Lambeth  93 

"Oh,  it's  been  achin'  cruel.  I've  hardly 
known  wot  ter  do  with  myself." 

"I'm  sure  'e  ought  ter  be  ashimed  of  'imself 
for  treatin'  yer  like  thet." 

"Oh,  it  wasn't  'is  blows  I  minded  so  much, 
Mrs.  Kemp,"  replied  Mrs.  Stanley,  "an'  don't 
you  think  it.  It  was  wot  'e  said  ter  me.  I  can 
stand  a  blow  as  well  as  any  woman.  I  don't 
mind  thet,  an'  when  'e  don't  tike  a  mean  ad- 
vantage of  me  I  can  stand  up  for  myself  an' 
give  as  good  as  I  tike;  an'  many's  the  time 
I  give  my  fust  'usband  a  black  eye.  But  the 
language  'e  used,  an'  the  things  'e  called  me! 
It  mide  me  blush  to  the  roots  of  my  'air;  I'm 
not  used  ter  bein'  spoken  ter  like  thet.  I  was 
in  good  circumstances  when  my  fust  'usband 
was  alive,  'e  earned  between  two  an'  three 
pounds  a  week,  'e  did.  As  I  said  to  'im  this 
mornin',  '  'Ow  a  gentleman  can  use  sich  lan- 
guage, I  dunno.' ' 

:  'Usbands  is  cautions,  'owever  good  they 
are,"  said  Mrs.  Kemp,  aphoristically.  "But 
I  mustn't  stay  aht  'ere  in  the  night  air." 

'  'As  yer  rheumatism  been  troublin'  yer 
litely?"  asked  Mrs.  Stanley. 


94  Liza  of  Lambeth 

"Oh,  cruel.  Liza  rubs  me  with  embrocation 
every  night,  but  it  torments  me  cruel." 

Mrs.  Kemp  then  went  into  the  house,  and 
Liza  remained  talking  to  Mrs.  Stanley;  she 
too  had  to  go  in,  and  Liza  was  left  alone. 
Some  while  she  spent  thinking  of  nothing,  star- 
ing vacantly  in  front  of  her,  enjoying  the  cool 
and  quiet  of  the  evening.  But  Liza  could  not 
be  left  alone  long;  several  boys  came  along 
with  a  bat  and  a  ball,  and  fixed  upon  the  road 
just  in  front  of  her  for  their  pitch.  Taking 
off  their  coats  they  piled  them  up  at  the  two 
ends,  and  were  ready  to  begin. 

"I  say,  old  gal,"  said  one  of  them  to  Liza, 
"come  an'  have  a  gime  of  cricket,  will  yer?" 

"Na,  Bob,  I'm  tired." 

"Come  on!" 

"Na,  I  tell  you  I  won't." 

"She  was  on  the  booze  yesterday,  an'  she 
ain't  got  over  it,"  cried  another  boy. 

"I'll  swipe  yer  over  the  snitch!"  replied 
Liza  to  him;  and  then  on  being  asked  again, 
said — 

"Leave  me  alone,  won't  yer?" 


Liza  of  Lambeth  95 

"Liza's  got  the  needle  ter-night,  thet's  flat," 
commented  a  third  member  of  the  team. 

"I  wouldn't  drink  if  I  was  you,  Liza,"  added 
another,  with  mock  gravity.  "It's  a  bad  'abit 
ter  git  into,"  and  he  began  rolling  and  sway- 
ing about  like  a  drunken  man. 

If  Liza  had  been  "in  form"  she  would  have 
gone  straight  away  and  given  the  whole  lot  of 
them  a  sample  of  her  strength;  but  she  was 
only  rather  bored  and  vexed  that  they  should 
disturb  her  quietness,  so  she  let  them  talk. 
They  saw  she  was  not  to  be  drawn,  and  leaving 
her,  set  to  their  game.  She  watched  them  for 
some  time,  but  her  thoughts  gradually  lost 
themselves,  and  insensibly  her  mind  was  filled 
with  a  burly  form,  and  she  was  again  think- 
ing of  Jim. 

'  'E  is  a  good  sort  ter  want  ter  tike  me  ter 
the  ply,"  she  said  to  herself.  "Tom  never  arst 
me!" 

Jim  had  said  he  would  come  out  in  the  eve- 
ning; he  ought  to  be  here  soon,  she  thought. 
Of  course  she  wasn't  going  to  the  theatre  with 
him,  but  she  didn't  mind  talking  to  him;  she 
rather  enjoyed  being  asked  to  do  a  thing  and 


96  Liza  of  Lambeth 

refusing,  and  she  would  have  liked  another  op- 
portunity of  doing  so.  But  he  didn't  come, 
and  he  had  said  he  would ! 

"I  say,  Bill,"  she  said  at  last  to  one  of  the 
boys  who  was  fielding  close  beside  her,  "that 
there  Blakeston — d'you  know  'em?" 

"Yus,  rather;  why,  he  works  at  the  sime 
plice  as  me." 

"Wot's  'e  do  with  'isself  in  the  evening;  I 
never  see  'im  abaht?" 

"I  dunno.  I  see  'im  this  evenin'  go  into 
the  'Red  Lion.'  I  suppose  Vs  there,  but  I 
dunno." 

Then  he  wasn't  coming.  Of  course  she  had 
fold  him  she  was  going  to  stay  indoors,  but  he 
might  have  come  all  the  same — just  to  see. 

"I  know  Tom  'ud  'ave  come,"  she  said  to 
herself,  rather  sulkily. 

"Liza!  Liza!"  she  heard  her  mother's  voice 
calling  her. 

"Arright,  I'm  comin',"  said  Liza. 

"I've  been  witin'  for  you  this  last  'alf-hour 
ter  rub  me." 

"Why  didn't  yer  call?"  asked  Liza. 

"I  did  call.     I've  been  callin'  this  last  I 


Liza  of  Lambeth  97 

dunno  'ow  long;  it's  give  me  quite  a  sore 
throat." 

"I  never  'card  yer." 

"Na,  yer  didn't  want  ter  'ear  me,  did  yer? 
Yer  don't  mind  if  I  dies  with  rheumatics,  do 
yer?  I  know." 

Liza  did  not  answer,  but  took  the  bottle, 
and,  pouring  some  of  the  liniment  on  her  hand, 
began  to  rub  it  into  Mrs.  Kemp's  rheumatic 
joints,  while  the  invalid  kept  complaining  and 
grumbling  at  everything  Liza  did. 

"Don't  rub  so  'ard,  Liza;  you'll  rub  all  the 
skin  off." 

Then  when  Liza  did  it  as  gently  as  she  could, 
she  grumbled  again. 

"If  you  do  it  like  thet,  it  won't  do  no  good 
at  all.  You  want  ter  sive  yerself  trouble — 
I  know  yer.  When  I  was  young  girls  didn't 
mind  a  little  bit  of  'ard  work — but,  law  bless 
yer,  you  don't  care  abaht  my  rheumatics,  do 
yer?" 

At  last  she  finished,  and  Liza  went  to  bed  by 
her  mother's  side. 


Chapter  Seven 

TWO  days  passed,  and  it  was  Friday 
morning.  Liza  had  got  up  early  and 
strolled  off  to  her  work  in  good  time,  but  she 
did  not  meet  her  faithful  Sally  on  the  way,  nor 
find  her  at  the  factory  when  she  herself  ar- 
rived. The  bell  rang  and  all  the  girls  trooped 
in,  but  still  Sally  did  not  come.  Liza  could 
not  make  it  out,  and  was  thinking  she  would 
be  shut  out,  when  just  as  the  man  who  gave 
out  the  tokens  for  the  day's  work  was  pulling 
down  the  shutter  in  front  of  his  window,  Sally 
arrived,  breathless  and  perspiring. 

"Whew!  Go'  lumme,  I  am  'ot!"  she  said, 
wiping  her  face  with  her  apron. 

"I  thought  you  wasn't  comin',"  said  Liza. 

"Well,  I  only  just  did  it;  I  overslep'  my- 
self. I  was  aht  lite  last  night." 

"Were  yer?" 

"Me  an'  'Arry  went  ter  see  the  ply.  Oh, 
Liza,  it's  simply  spiffin'!  I've  never  see  sich 

99 


ioo  Liza  of  Lambeth 

y^***^""""^^^^^" "^^^^^  ' 

a  good  ply  in  my  life.  Lor' !  Why,  it  mikes 
yer  blood  run  cold:  they  'ang  a  man  on  the 
stige;  oh,  it  mide  me  creep  all  over!" 

And  then  she  began  telling  Liza  all  about 
it — the  blood  and  thunder,  the  shooting,  the 
railway  train,  the  murder,  the  bomb,  the  hero, 
the  funny  man — jumbling  everything  up  in 
her  excitement,  repeating  little  scraps  of  dia- 
logue— all  wrong — gesticulating,  getting  ex- 
cited and  red  in  the  face  at  the  recollection. 
Liza  listened  rather  crossly,  feeling  bored  at 
the  detail  into  which  Sally  was  going:  the  piece 
really  didn't  much  interest  her. 

"One  'ud  think  yer'd  never  been  to  a  theatre 
in  your  life  before,"  she  said. 

"I  never  seen  anything  so  good,  I  can  tell 
yer.  You  tike  my  tip,  and  git  Tom  ter  tike 
yer." 

"I  don't  want  ter  go ;  an'  if  I  did  I'd  py  for 
myself  an'  go  alone." 

"Cheese  it!  That  ain't  'alf  so  good.  Me 
an*  'Arry,  we  set  together,  'im  with  'is  arm 
round  my  wiste  and  me  'oldin'  'is  'and.  It 
was  jam,  I  can  tell  yer!" 


Liza  of  Lambeth  101 

"  i 

"Well,  I  don't  want  any  one  sprawlin'  me 
abaht;  thet  ain't  my  mark!" 

"But  I  do  like  'Arry;  you  dunno  the  little 
ways  'e  'as;  an'  we're  goin'  ter  be  married  in 
three  weeks  now.  'Arry  said,  well,  'e  says, 
'I'll  git  a  licence.'  'Na,'  says  I,  *  'ave  the 
banns  read  aht  in  church;  it  seems  more  reg'lar 
like  to  'ave  banns ;  so  they're  goin'  ter  be  read 
aht  next  Sunday.  You'll  come  with  me  an* 
'ear  them,  won't  yer,  Liza?" 

"Yus,  I  don't  mind." 

On  the  way  home  Sally  insisted  on  stopping 
in  front  of  the  poster  and  explaining  to  Liza 
all  about  the  scene  represented. 

"Oh,  you  give  me  the  sick  with  your  'Fital 
Card/  you  do!  I'm  goin'  'ome."  And  she 
left  Sally  in  the  midst  of  her  explanation. 

"I  dunno  wot's  up  with  Liza,"  remarked 
Sally  to  a  mutual  friend.  "She's  always  got 
the  needle,  some'ow." 

"Oh,  she's  barmy,"  answered  the  friend. 

"Well,  I  do  think  she's  a  bit  dotty  some- 
times— I  do  really,"  rejoined  Sally. 

Liza  walked  homewards,  thinking  of  the 
play;  at  length  she  tossed  her  head  impatiently. 


IO2  Liza  of  Lambeth 

"I  don't  want  ter  see  the  blasted  thing; 
an'  if  I  see  that  there  Jim  I'll  tell  'im  so;  swop 
me  bob,  I  will!" 

She  did  see  him;  he  was  leaning  with  his 
back  against  the  wall  of  his  house,  smoking. 
Liza  knew  he  had  seen  her,  and  as  she  walked 
by  pretended  not  to  have  noticed  him.  To  her 
disgust,  he  let  her  pass,  and  she  was  thinking 
he  hadn't  seen  her  after  all,  when  she  heard 
him  call  her  name 

"Liza!" 

She  turned  round  and  started  with  surprise 
— very  well  imitated.  "I  didn't  see  you  was 
there!"  she  said. 

"Why  did  yer  pretend  not  ter  notice  me,  as 
yer  went  past — eh,  Liza?" 

"Why,  I  didn't  see  yer." 

"Garn!     But  you  ain't  shirty  with  me?" 

"Wot  'ave  I  got  to  be  shirty  abaht?" 

He  tried  to  take  her  hand,  but  she  drew  it 
away  quickly.  She  was  getting  used  to  the 
movement.  They  went  on  talking,  but  Jim 
did  not  mention  the  theatre;  Liza  was  sur- 
prised, and  wondered  whether  he  had  for- 
gotten. 


Liza  of  Lambeth  103 

"Er — Sally  went  to  the  ply  last  night,"  she 
said,  at  last. 

"Oh!"  he  said;  and  that  was  all. 

She  got  impatient. 

"Well,  I'm  off!"  she  said. 

"Na,  don't  go  yet ;  I  want  ter  talk  ter  yer," 
he  replied. 

"Wot  abaht?  anythin'  in  partickler?"  She 
would  drag  it  out  of  him  if  she  possibly  could. 

"Not  thet  I  knows  on,"  he  said,  smiling. 

"Good-night!"  she  said,  abruptly,  turning 
away  from  him. 

"Well,  I'm  damned  if  'e  ain't  forgotten!" 
she  said  to  herself,  sulkily,  as  she  marched 
home. 

The  following  evening  about  six  o'clock,  it 
suddenly  struck  her  that  it  was  the  last  night 
of  the  "New  and  Sensational  Drama." 

"I  do  like  thet  Jim  Blakeston,"  she  said  to 
herself;  "fancy  treatin'  me  like  thet!  You 
wouldn't  catch  Tom  doin'  sich  a  thing.  Bli'me 

if  I  speak  to  'im  again,  the Now  I  sha'n't 

see  it  at  all.  I've  a  good  mind  ter  go  on  my 
own  'ook.  Fancy  'is  forgettin'  all  abaht  it, 
like  thet!" 


104  Liza  of  Lambeth 

She  was  really  quite  indignant;  though,  as 
she  had  distinctly  refused  Jim's  offer,  it  was 
rather  hard  to  see  why. 

"  'E  said  'e'd  wite  for  me  ahtside  the  doors ; 
I  wonder  if  'e's  there.  I'll  go  an'  see  if  'e  is, 
see  if  I  don't — an'  then  if  'e's  there,  I'll  go 
in  on  my  own  'ook,  jist  ter  spite  'im." 

She  dressed  herself  in  her  best,  and,  so  that 
the  neighbours  shouldn't  see  her,  went  up  a 
passage  between  some  model  lodging-house 
buildings,  and  in  this  roundabout  way  got  into 
the  Westminster  Bridge  Road,  and  soon  found 
herself  in  front  of  the  theatre. 

"I've  been  witin'  for  yer  this  'alf-hour." 

She  turned  round  and  saw  Jim  standing  just 
behind  her. 

"  'Oo  are  you  talkin'  to?  I'm  not  goin'  to 
the  ply  with  you.  Wot  d'yer  tike  me  for, 
eh?" 

'  'Oo  are  yer  goin'  with,  then?" 

"I'm  goin'  alone." 

"Garn!  don't  be  a  bloomin'  jackass!" 

Liza  was  feeling  very  injured. 

"Thet's  'ow  you  treat  me !  I  shall  go  'ome. 
Why  didn't  you  come  aht  the  other  night?" 


Liza  of  Lambeth  105 

"Yer  told  me  not  ter." 

She  snorted  at  the  ridiculous  ineptitude  of 
the  reply. 

"Why  didn't  you  say  nothin'  abaht  it  yes- 
terday?" 

"Why,  I  thought  you'd  come  if  I  didn't  talk 
on  it." 

"Well,  I  think  you're  a  -  -  brute!"  She 
felt  very  much  inclined  to  cry. 

"Come  on,  Liza,  don't  tike  on;  I  didn't  mean 
no  offence."  And  he  put  his  arm  round  her 
waist  and  led  her  to  take  their  places  at  the 
gallery  door.  Two  tears  escaped  from  the 
corners  of  her  eyes  and  ran  down  her  nose,  but 
she  felt  very  relieved  and  happy,  and  let  him 
lead  her  where  he  would. 

There  was  a  long  string  of  people  waiting  at 
the  door,  and  Liza  was  delighted  to  see  a  couple 
of  niggers  who  were  helping  them  to  while 
away  the  time  of  waiting.  The  niggers  sang 
and  danced,  and  made  faces,  while  the  people 
looked  on  with  appreciative  gravity,  like  roy- 
alty listening  to  de  Reszke,  and  they  were  very 
generous  of  applause  and  halfpence  at  the  end 
of  the  performance.  Then,  when  the  niggers 


io6  Liza  of  Lambeth 

moved  to  the  pit  doors,  paper  boys  came  along 
offering  Tit-Bits  and  "extra  specials";  after 
that  three  little  girls  came  round  and  sang  sen- 
timental songs  and  collected  more  halfpence. 
At  last  a  movement  ran  through  the  serpent- 
like  string  of  people,  sounds  were  heard  be- 
hind the  door,  every  one  closed  up,  the  men 
told  the  women  to  keep  close  and  hold  tight; 
there  was  a  great  unbarring  and  unbolting, 
the  doors  were  thrown  open,  and,  like  a  burst- 
ing river,  the  people  surged  in. 

Half  an  hour  more  and  the  curtain  went  up. 
The  play  was  indeed  thrilling.  Liza  quite  for- 
got her  companion,  and  was  intent  on  the 
scene;  she  watched  the  incidents  breathlessly, 
trembling  with  excitement,  almost  beside  her- 
self at  the  celebrated  hanging  incident.  When 
the  curtain  fell  on  the  first  act  she  sighed  and 
mopped  her  face. 

"See  'ow  'ot  I  am,"  she  said  to  Jim,  giving 
him  her  hand. 

"Yus,  you  are!"  he  remarked,  taking  it. 

"Leave  go!"  she  said,  trying  to  withdraw 
it  from  him. 

"Not  much,"  he  answered,  quite  boldly. 


Liza  of  Lambeth  107 

"Garn!  Leave  go!"  But  he  didn't,  and 
she  really  did  not  struggle  very  violently. 

The  second  act  came,  and  she  shrieked  over 
the  comic  man;  and  her  laughter  rang  higher 
than  any  one  else's,  so  that  people  turned  to 
look  at  her,  and  said— 

"She  is  enjoyin'  'erself." 

Then  when  the  murder  came  she  bit  her  nails 
and  the  sweat  stood  on  her  forehead  in  great 
drops ;  in  her  excitement  she  even  called  out  as 
loud  as  she  could  to  the  victim,  "Look  aht!" 
It  caused  a  laugh  and  slackened  the  tension, 
for  the  whole  house  was  holding  its  breath  as 
it  looked  at  the  villains  listening  at  the  door, 
creeping  silently  forward,  crawling  like  tigers 
to  their  prey. 

Liza  trembled  all  over,  and  in  her  terror 
threw  herself  against  Jim,  who  put  both  his 
arms  round  her,  and  said — 

"Don't  be  afride,  Liza;  it's  all  right." 

At  last  the  men  sprang,  there  was  a  scuffle, 
and  the  wretch  was  killed ;  then  came  the  scene 
depicted  on  the  posters — the  victim's  son 
knocking  at  the  door,  on  the  inside  of  which 
were  the  murderers  and  the  murdered  man. 


io8  Liza  of  Lambeth 

At  last  the  curtain  came  down,  and  the  house 
in  relief  burst  forth  into  cheers  and  cheers ;  the 
handsome  hero  in  his  top  hat  was  greeted  thun- 
derously; the  murdered  man,  with  his  clothes 
still  all  disarranged,  was  hailed  with  sympa- 
thy; and  the  villains — the  house  yelled  and 
hissed  and  booed,  while  the  poor  brutes  bowed 
and  tried  to  look  as  if  they  liked  it. 

"I  am  enjoyin'  myself,"  said  Liza,  pressing 
herself  quite  close  to  Jim;  "you  are  a  good 
sort  ter  tike  me — Jim." 

He  gave  her  a  little  hug,  and  it  struck  her 
that  she  was  sitting  just  as  Sally  had  done, 
and,  like  Sally,  she  found  it  "jam." 

The  entr'actes  were  short  and  the  curtain 
was  soon  up  again,  and  the  comic  man  raised 
customary  laughter  by  undressing  and  expos- 
ing his  nether  garments  to  the  public  view; 
then  more  tragedy,  and  the  final  act  with  its 
darkened  room,  its  casting  lots,  and  its  ex- 
plosion. 

When  it  was  all  over  and  they  had  got  out- 
side Jim  smacked  his  lips  and  said — 

"I  could  do  with  a  gargle ;  let's  go  into  thet 
pub  there." 


Liza  of  Lambeth  109 

"I'm  as  dry  as  bone,"  said  Liza;  and  so  they 
went. 

When  they  got  in  they  discovered  they  were 
hungry,  and  seeing  some  appetising  sausage- 
rolls,  ate  of  them,  and  washed  them  down  with 
a  couple  of  pots  of  beer,  then  Jim  lit  his  pipe 
and  they  strolled  off.  They  had  got  quite 
near  the  Westminster  Bridge  Road  when  Jim 
suggested  that  they  should  go  and  have  one 
more  drink  before  closing  time. 

"I  shall  be  tight,"  said  Liza. 

"Thet  don't  matter,"  answered  Jim,  laugh- 
ing. "You  ain't  got  ter  go  ter  work  in  the 
mornin',  an'  you  can  sleep  it  aht." 

"Ar right,  I  don't  mind  if  I  do  then;  in  for 
a  penny,  in  for  a  pound." 

At  the  pub  door  she  drew  back. 

"I  say,  guv'ner,"  she  said,  "there'll  be  some 
of  the  coves  from  dahn  our  street,  and  they'll 
see  us." 

"Na,  there  won't  be  nobody  there,  don't  yer 
'ave  no  fear." 

"I  don't  like  ter  go  in  for  fear  of  it." 

"Well,  we  ain't  doin'  no  'arm  if  they  does 
see  us,  an'  we  can  go  into  the  private  bar,  an* 


no  Liza  of  Lambeth 

you  bet  your  boots  there  won't  be  no  one 
there." 

She  yielded,  and  they  went  in. 

"Two  pints  of  bitter,  please  miss,"  ordered 
Jim. 

"I  say,  'old  'ard.  I  can't  drink  more  than 
'alf  a  pint,"  said  Liza. 

"Cheese  it,"  answered  Jim.  "You  can  do 
with  all  you  can  get,  I  know." 

At  closing  time  they  left  and  walked  down 
the  broad  road  which  led  homewards. 

"Let's  'ave  a  little  sit  dahn,"  said  Jim,  point- 
ing to  an  empty  bench  between  two  trees. 

"Na,  it's  gettin'  lite;  I  want  ter  be  'ome." 

"It's  such  a  fine  night,  it's  a  pity  ter  go  in 
already;"  and  he  drew  her  unresisting  towards 
the  seat.  He  put  his  arm  round  her  waist. 

"Un'and  me,  villin!"  she  said,  in  apt  misquo- 
tation of  the  melodrama;  but  Jim  only 
laughed,  and  she  made  no  effort  to  disengage 
herself. 

They  sat  there  for  a  long  while  in  silence; 
the  beer  had  got  to  Liza's  head,  and  the  warm 
night  air  filled  her  with  a  double  intoxication. 
She  felt  the  arm  round  her  waist,  and  the  big, 


Liza  of  Lambeth  in 

heavy  form  pressing  against  her  side;  she  ex- 
perienced again  the  curious  sensation  as  if  her 
heart  were  about  to  burst,  and  it  choked  her — 
a  feeling  so  oppressive  and  painful  that  it  al- 
most made  her  feel  sick.  Her  hands  began 
to  tremble,  and  her  breathing  grew  rapid,  as 
though  she  were  suffocating.  Almost  faint- 
ing, she  swayed  over  towards  the  man,  and 
a  cold  shiver  ran  through  her  from  top  to  toe. 
Jim  bent  over  her,  and,  taking  her  in  both  arms, 
he  pressed  his  lips  to  hers  in  a  long,  passionate 
kiss.  At  last,  panting  for  breath,  she  turned 
her  head  away  and  groaned. 

Then  they  again  sat  for  a  long  while  in  si- 
lence, Liza  full  of  a  strange  happiness,  feeling 
as  if  she  could  laugh  aloud  hysterically,  but 
restrained  by  the  calm  and  silence  of  the  night. 
Close  behind  struck  a  church  clock — one! 

"Bless  my  soul!"  said  Liza,  starting, 
"there's  one  o'clock.  I  must  get  'ome." 

"It's  so  nice  out  'ere;  do  sty,  Liza."  He 
pressed  her  closer  to  him.  "Yer  know,  Liza, 
I  love  yer — fit  ter  kill." 

"Na,  I  can't  stay;  come  on."     She  got  up 


112  Liza  of  Lambeth 

from  the  seat,  and  pulled  him  up  too.  "Come 
on,"  she  said. 

Without  speaking  they  went  along,  and 
there  was  no  one  to  be  seen  either  in  front  or 
behind  them.  He  had  not  got  his  arm  round 
her  now,  and  they  were  walking  side  by  side, 
slightly  separated.  It  was  Liza  who  spoke 
first. 

"You'd  better  go  dahn  the  Road  and  by  the 
church  an'  git  into  Vere  Street  the  other  end, 
an'  I'll  go  through  the  passage,  so  thet  no  one 
shouldn't  see  us  comin'  together;"  she  spoke 
almost  in  a  whisper. 

"Arright,  Liza,"  he  answered,  "I'll  do  just 
as  you  tell  me." 

They  came  to  the  passage  of  which  Liza 
spoke;  it  was  a  narrow  way  between  blank 
walls,  the  backs  of  factories,  and  it  led  into 
the  upper  end  of  Vere  Street.  The  entrance 
to  it  was  guarded  by  two  iron  posts  in  the  mid- 
dle, so  that  horses  or  barrows  should  not  be 
taken  through. 

They  had  just  got  to  it  when  a  man  came 
out  into  the  open  road.  Liza  quickly  turned 
her  head  away. 


Liza  of  Lambeth  113 

"I  wonder  if  'e  see  us,"  she  said,  when  he 
had  passed  out  of  earshot.  "  E's  lookin' 
back,"  she  added. 

"Why,  'oo  is  it?"  asked  Jim. 

"It's  a  man  aht  of  our  street,"  she  an- 
swered. "I  dunno  'im,  but  I  know  where  'e 
lodges.  D'yer  think  'e  see  us?" 

"Na,  'e  wouldn't  know  'oo  it  was  in  the 
dark." 

"But  he  looked  round ;  all  the  street'll  know 
it  if  he  see  us." 

"Well,  we  ain't  doin'  no  'arm." 

She  stretched  out  her  hand  to  say  good- 
night. 

"I'll  come  a  little  wy  with  yer  along  the 
passage,"  said  Jim. 

"Na,  you  mustn't;  you  go  straight  round." 

"But  it's  so  dark;  p'raps  summat'll  'appen 
to  yer." 

"Not  it!  You  go  on  'ome  an'  leave  me," 
she  replied,  and  entering  the  passage,  stood 
facing  liim  with  one  of  the  iron  pillars  be- 
tween them. 

"Good-night,  old  cock,"  she  said,  stretching 
out  her  hand.  He  took  it,  and  said — 


H4  Liza  of  Lambeth 

"I  wish  yer  wasn't  goin'  ter  leave  me,  Liza." 

"Garn !  I  must !"  She  tried  to  get  her  hand 
away  from  his,  but  he  held  it  firm,  resting  it 
on  the  top  of  the  pillar. 

"Leave  go  my  'and,"  she  said.  He  made 
no  movement,  but  looked  into  her  eyes  stead- 
ily, so  that  it  made  her  uneasy.  She  repented 
having  come  out  with  him.  "Leave  go  my 
'and."  And  she  beat  down  on  his  with  her 
closed  fist. 

"Liza!"  he  said,  at  last. 

"Well,  wot  is  it?"  she  answered,  still  thump- 
ing down  on  his  hand  with  her  fist. 

"Liza,"  he  said,  in  a  whisper,  "will  yer?" 

"Will  I  wot?"  she  said,  looking  down. 

"You  know,  Liza.     Sy,  will  yer?" 

"Na,"  she  said. 

He  bent  over  her  and  repeated — 

"Will  yer?" 

She  did  not  speak,  but  kept  beating  down 
on  his  hand. 

"Liza,"  he  said  again,  his  voice  growing 
hoarse  and  thick — "Liza,  will  yer?" 

She  still  kept  silence,  looking  away  and  con- 
tinually bringing  down  her  fist.  He  looked 


Liza  of  Lambeth  115 

at  her  a  moment,  and  she,  ceasing  to  thump 
his  hand,  looked  up  at  him  with  half -opened 
mouth.  Suddenly  he  shook  himself,  and  clos- 
ing his  fist  gave  her  a  violent,  swinging  blow 
in  the  stomach. 

"Come  on,"  he  said. 

And  together  they  slid  down  into  the  dark- 
ness of  the  passage. 


Chapter  Eight 

MRS.  KEMP  was  in  the  habit  of  slum- 
bering somewhat  heavily  on  Sunday 
mornings,  or  Liza  would  not  have  been  allowed 
to  go  on  sleeping  as  she  did.  When  she  woke 
she  rubbed  her  eyes  to  gather  her  senses  to- 
gether, and  gradually  she  remembered  having 
gone  to  the  theatre  on  the  previous  evening; 
then  suddenly  everything  came  back  to  her. 
She  stretched  out  her  legs  and  gave  a  long  sigh 
of  delight.  Her  heart  was  full;  she  thought 
of  Jim,  and  the  delicious  sensation  of  love 
came  over  her.  Closing  her  eyes,  she  imag- 
ined his  warm  kisses,  and  she  lifted  up  her  arms 
as  if  to  put  them  round  his  neck  and  draw  him 
down  to  her;  she  almost  felt  the  rough  beard 
on  her  face,  and  the  strong,  heavy  arms  round 
her  body.  She  smiled  to  herself  and  took  a 
long  breath;  then,  slipping  back  the  sleeves 
of  her  nightdress,  she  looked  at  her  own  thin 
arms,  just  two  pieces  of  bone  with  not  a  mus- 

117 


n8  Liza  of  Lambeth 

cle  on  them,  but  very  white  and  showing  dis- 
tinctly the  interlacement  of  blue  veins ;  she  did 
not  notice  that  her  hands  were  rough,  and  red 
and  dirty  with  the  nails  broken,  and  bitten 
to  the  quick.  She  got  out  of  bed  and  looked 
at  herself  in  the  glass  over  the  mantelpiece; 
with  one  hand  she  brushed  back  her  hair  and 
smiled  at  herself;  her  face  was  very  small  and 
thin,  but  the  complexion  was  nice,  clear  and 
white,  with  a  delicate  tint  of  red  on  the  cheeks, 
and  her  eyes  were  big  and  dark  like  her  hair. 
She  felt  very  happy. 

She  did  not  want  to  dress  yet,  but  rather  to 
sit  down  and  think,  so  she  twisted  up  her  hair 
into  a  little  knot,  slipped  a  skirt  over  her  night- 
dress, and  sat  on  a  chair  near  the  window  and 
began  looking  around.  The  decorations  of 
the  room  had  been  centred  on  the  mantelpiece ; 
the  chief  ornament  consisted  of  a  pear  and  an 
apple,  a  pine-apple,  a  bunch  of  grapes,  and 
several  fat  plums,  all  very  beautifully  done  in 
wax,  as  was  the  fashion  about  the  middle  of 
this  most  glorious  reign.  They  were  appro- 
priately coloured — the  apple  blushing  red,  the 
grapes  an  inky  black,  emerald  green  leaves 


Liza  of  Lambeth  119 

were  scattered  here  and  there  to  lend  finish, 
and  the  whole  was  mounted  on  an  ebonised 
stand  covered  with  black  velvet,  and  protected 
from  dust  and  dirt  by  a  beautiful  glass  cover 
bordered  with  red  plush.  Liza's  eyes  rested 
on  this  with  approbation,  and  the  pineapple 
quite  made  her  mouth  water.  At  either  end 
of  the  mantelpiece  were  pink  jars  with  blue 
flowers  on  the  front;  round  the  top  in  Gothic 
letters  of  gold  was  inscribed:  "A  Present  from 
a  Friend" — these  were  products  of  a  later, 
but  not  less  artistic  age.  The  intervening 
spaces  were  taken  up  with  little  jars  and  cups 
and  saucers — gold  inside,  with  a  view  of  a  town 
outside,  and  surrounding  them,  "A  Present 
from  Clacton-on-Sea,"  or,  alliteratively,  "A 
Memento  of  Margate."  Of  these  many  were 
broken,  but  they  had  been  mended  with  glue, 
and  it  is  well  known  that  pottery  in  the  eyes 
of  the  connoisseur  loses  none  of  its  value  by  a 
crack  or  two.  Then  there  were  portraits  in- 
numerable— little  yellow  cartes-de-visite  in  vel- 
vet frames,  some  of  which  were  decorated  with 
shells;  they  showed  strange  people  with  old- 
fashioned  clothes,  the  women  with  bodices  and 


I2O  Liza  of  Lambeth 

sleeves  fitting  close  to  the  figure,  stern-fea- 
tured females  with  hair  carefully  parted  in  the 
middle  and  plastered  down  on  each  side,  firm 
chins  and  mouths,  with  small,  pig-like  eyes  and 
wrinkled  faces,  and  the  men  were  uncomfort- 
ably clad  in  Sunday  garments,  very  stiff  and 
uneasy  in  their  awkward  postures,  with  large 
whiskers  and  shaved  chins  and  upper  lips  and 
a  general  air  of  horny-handed  toil.  Then 
there  were  one  or  two  daguerreotypes,  little 
full-length  figures  framed  in  gold  paper. 
There  was  one  of  Mrs.  Kemp's  father  and  one 
of  her  mother,  and  there  were  several  photo- 
graphs of  betrothed  or  newly-married  couples, 
the  lady  sitting  down  and  the  man  standing 
behind  her  with  his  hand  on  the  chair,  or  the 
man  sitting  and  the  woman  with  her  hand  on 
his  shoulder.  And  from  all  sides  of  the  room, 
standing  on  the  mantelpiece,  hanging  above  it, 
on  the  wall  and  over  the  bed,  they  stared  full- 
face  into  the  room,  self-consciously  fixed  for 
ever  in  their  stiff  discomfort. 

The  walls  were  covered  with  dingy,  anti- 
quated paper,  and  ornamented  with  coloured 
supplements  from  Christmas  Numbers — there 


Liza  of  Lambeth  121 

was  a  very  patriotic  picture  of  a  soldier  shak- 
ing the  hand  of  a  fallen  comrade  and  waving 
his  arm  in  defiance  of  a  band  of  advancing 
Arabs;  there  was  a  "Cherry  Ripe,"  almost 
black  with  age  and  dirt;  there  were  two  al- 
manacks several  years  old,  one  with  a  coloured 
portrait  of  the  Marquess  of  Lome,  very  hand- 
some and  elegantly  dressed,  the  object  of  Mrs. 
Kemp's  adoration  since  her  husband's  demise ; 
the  other  a  Jubilee  portrait  of  the  Queen, 
somewhat  losing  in  dignity  by  a  moustache 
which  Liza  in  an  irreverent  moment  had 
smeared  on  with  charcoal. 

The  furniture  consisted  of  a  wash-hand 
stand  and  a  little  deal  chest  of  drawers,  which 
acted  as  sideboard  to  such  pots  and  pans  and 
crockery  as  could  not  find  room  in  the  grate; 
and  besides  the  bed  there  was  nothing  but  two 
kitchen  chairs  and  a  lamp.  Liza  looked  at  it 
all  and  felt  perfectly  satisfied;  she  put  a  pin 
into  one  corner  of  the  noble  Marquess  to  pre- 
vent him  from  falling,  fiddled  about  with  the 
ornaments  a  little,  and  then  started  washing 
herself.  After  putting  on  her  clothes  she  ate 


122  Liza  of  Lambeth 

some  bread-and-butter,  swallowed  a  dishful  of 
cold  tea,  and  went  out  into  the  street. 

She  saw  some  boys  playing  cricket  and  went 
up  to  them. 

"Let  me  ply,"  she  said. 

"Arright,  Liza,"  cried  half  a  dozen  of  them 
in  delight;  and  the  captain  added,  "You  go  an' 
scout  over  by  the  lamp -post." 

"Go  an'  scout  my  eye!"  said  Liza,  indig- 
nantly. "When  I  ply  cricket  I  does  the  bat- 
tin'." 

"Na,  you're  not  goin'  ter  bat  all  the  time. 
'Oo  are  you  gettin'  at?"  replied  the  captain, 
who  had  taken  advantage  of  his  position  to 
put  himself  in  first,  and  was  still  at  the  wicket. 

"Well,  then  I  sha'n't  ply,"  answered  Liza. 

"Garn,  Ernie,  let  'er  go  in!"  shouted  two 
or  three  members  of  the  team. 

"Well,  I'm  busted!"  remarked  the  captain, 
as  she  took  his  bat.  "You  won't  sty  in  long, 
I  lay,"  he  said,  as  he  sent  the  old  bowler  field- 
ing and  took  the  ball  himself.  He  was  a 
young  gentleman  who  did  not  suffer  from  ex- 
cessive backwardness. 

"Aht!"  shouted  a  dozen  voices  as  the  ball 


Liza  of  Lambeth  123 

went  past  Liza's  bat  and  landed  in  the  pile  of 
coats  which  formed  the  wicket.  The  captain 
came  forward  to  resume  his  innings,  but  Liza 
held  the  bat  away  from  him. 

"Garn!"  she  said;  "thet  was  only  a  trial." 

"You  never  said  trial,"  answered  the  cap- 
tain, indignantly. 

"Yus,  I  did,"  said  Liza;  "I  said  it  just  as 
the  ball  was  comin' — under  my  breath." 

"Well,  I  am  busted!"  repeated  the  captain. 

Just  then  Liza  saw  Tom  among  the  lookers- 
on,  and  as  she  felt  very  kindly  disposed  to  the 
world  in  general  that  morning,  she  called  out 
to  him — 

"  'Ulloa,  Tom!"  she  said.  "Come  an'  give 
us  a  ball;  this  chap  can't  bowl." 

"Well,  I  got  yer  aht,  any'ow,"  said  that 
person. 

"Ah,  yer  wouldn't  'ave  got  me  aht  plyin' 
square.  But  a  trial  ball — well,  one  don't  ever 
know  wot  a  trial  ball's  goin'  ter  do." 

Tom  began  bowling  very  slowly  and  easily, 
so  that  Liza  could  swing  her  bat  round  and 
hit  mightily;  she  ran  well,  too,  and  pantingly 


124  Liza  of  Lambeth 

brought  up  her  score  to  twenty.  Then  the 
fielders  interposed. 

"I  sy,  look  'ere,  'e's  only  givin'  'er  lobs; 
Vs  not  tryin'  ter  git  'er  aht." 

"You're  spoilin'  our  gime." 

"I  don't  care;  I've  got  twenty  runs — thet's 
more  than  you  could  do.  I'll  go  aht  now  of 
my  own  accord,  so  there!  Come  on,  Tom." 

Tom  joined  her,  and  as  the  captain  at  last 
resumed  his  bat  and  the  game  went  on,  they 
commenced  talking,  Liza  leaning  against  the 
wall  of  a  house,  while  Tom  stood  in  front  of 
her,  smiling  with  pleasure. 

"Where  'ave  you  been  'idin'  yerself,  Tom? 
I  ain't  seen  yer  for  I  dunno  'ow  long." 

"I've  been  abaht  as  usual;  an'  I've  seen  you 
when  you  didn't  see  me." 

"Well,  yer  might  'ave  come  up  and  said 
good  mornin'  when  you  see  me." 

"I  didn't  want  ter  force  myself  on  yer, 
Liza." 

"Gam!  You  are  a  bloomin'  cuckoo,  I'm 
blowed!" 

"I  thought  yer  didn't  like  me  'angin'  round 
yer;  so  I  kep'  awy." 


Liza  of  Lambeth  125 

"Why,  yer  talks  as  if  I  didn't  like  yer.  Yer 
don't  think  I'd  'ave  come  aht  beanfeastin'  with 
yer  if  I  'adn't  liked  yer?" 

Liza  was  really  very  dishonest,  but  she  felt 
so  happy  this  morning  that  she  loved  the  whole 

world,  and  of  course  Tom  came  in  with  the 
others.  She  looked  very  kindly  at  him,  and 
he  was  so  affected  that  a  great  lump  came  in 
his  throat  and  he  could  not  speak. 

Liza's  eyes  turned  to  Jim's  house,  and  she 
saw  coming  out  of  the  door  a  girl  of  about 
her  own  age;  she  fancied  she  saw  in  her  some 
likeness  to  Jim. 

"Say,  Tom,"  she  asked,  "thet  ain't  Blake- 
ston's  daughter,  is  it?" 

"Yus,  thet's  it." 

"I'll  go  an'  speak  to  'er,"  said  Liza,  leav- 
ing Tom  and  going  over  the  road. 

"You're  Polly  Blakeston,  ain't  yer?"  she 
said. 

"Thet's  me!"  said  the  girl. 

"I  thought  you  was.  Your  dad,  'e  says  ter 
me,  'You  dunno  my  daughter,  Polly,  do  yer?' 
says  'e.  'Na,'  says  I,  'I  don't.'  'Well,'  says 


126  Liza  of  Lambeth 

'e,  'You  can't  miss  'er  when  you  see  'er.'  An' 
right  enough  I  didn't." 

"Mother  says  I'm  all  father,  an'  there  ain't 
no  thin'  of  'er  in  me.  Dad  says  it's  lucky  it 
ain't  the  other  wy  abaht,  or  'e'd  'ave  got  a  di- 
vorce." 

They  both  laughed. 

"Where  are  you  goin'  now?"  asked  Liza, 
looking  at  the  slop-basin  she  was  carrying. 

"I  was  just  goin'  dahn  into  the  Road  ter 
get  some  ice-cream  for  dinner.  Father  'ad  a 
bit  of  luck  last  night,  'e  says,  and  'e'd  stand 
the  lot  of  us  ice-cream  for  dinner  ter-day." 

"I'll  come  with  yer  if  yer  like." 

"Come  on!"  And,  already  friends,  they 
walked  arm  in  arm  to  the  Westminster  Bridge 
Road.  Then  they  went  along  till  they  came 
to  a  stall  where  an  Italian  was  selling  the  re- 
quired commodity,  and  having  had  a  taste 
apiece  to  see  if  they  liked  it,  Polly  planked 
down  sixpence  and  had  her  basin  filled  with  a 
poisonous-looking  mixture  of  red  and  white  ice- 
cream. 

On  the  way  back,  looking  up  the  street, 
Polly  cried — 


Liza  of  Lambeth  127 

"There's  father!" 

Liza's  heat  beat  rapidly  and  she  turned 
red;  but  suddenly  a  sense  of  shame  came  over 
her,  and  casting  down  her  head  so  that  she 
might  not  see  him,  she  said — 

"I  think  I'll  be  off  'ome  an'  see  'ow  moth- 
er's gettin'  on."  And  before  Polly  could  say 
anything  she  had  slipped  away  and  entered  her 
own  house. 

Mother  was  not  getting  on  at  all  well. 

"You've  come  in  at  last,  you  ,  you!" 

snarled  Mrs.  Kemp,  as  Liza  entered  the  room. 

"Wot's  the  matter,  mother?" 

"Matter!  I  like  thet — matter  indeed!  Go 
an'  matter  yerself  an'  be  mattered !  Nice  way 
ter  treat  an  old  woman  like  me — an'  yer  own 
mother,  too!" 

"Wot's  up  now?" 

"Don't  talk  ter  me;  I  don't  want  ter  listen 
ter  you.  Leavin'  me  all  alone,  me  with  my 
rheumatics,  an'  the  neuralgy!  I've  'ad  the 
neuralgy  all  the  mornin',  and  my  'ead's  been 
simply  splittin',  so  thet  I  thought  the  bones 
'ud  come  apart  and  all  my  brains  go  streamin' 
on  the  floor.  An'  when  I  wake  up  there's  no 


128  Liza  of  Lambeth 

one  ter  git  my  tea  for  me,  an'  I  lay  there  witin' 
an'  witin',  an'  at  last  I  'ad  ter  git  up  and  mike 
it  myself.  An'  my  'ead  simply  cruel!  Why, 
I  might  'ave  been  burnt  ter  death  with  the 
fire  alight  an'  me  asleep." 

"Well,  I  am  sorry,  mother;  but  I  went  aht 
just  for  a  bit,  an'  didn't  think  you'd  wike. 
An'  besides,  the  fire  wasn't  alight." 

"Garn  with  yer!  I  didn't  treat  my  mother 
like  thet.  Oh,  you've  been  a  bad  daughter  ter 
me — an'  I  'ad  more  illness  carryin'  you  than 
with  all  the  other  children  put  togither.  You 
was  a  cross  at  yer  birth,  an'  you've  been  a  cross 
ever  since.  An'  now  in  my  old  age,  when  I've 
worked  myself  ter  the  bone,  yer  leaves  me  to 
starve  and  burn  ter  death."  Here  she  began 
to  cry,  and  the  rest  of  her  utterances  was  lost 
in  sobs. 

The  dusk  had  darkened  into  night,  and  Mrs. 
Kemp  had  retired  to  rest  with  the  dicky-birds. 
Liza  was  thinking  of  many  things;  she  won- 
dered why  she  had  been  unwilling  to  meet  Jim 
in  the  morning. 

"I  was  a  bally  fool,"  she  said  to  herself. 


Liza  of  Lambeth  129 

It  really  seemed  an  age  since  the  previous 
night,  and  all  that  had  happened  seemed  very 
long  ago.  She  had  not  spoken  to  Jim  all  day, 
and  she  had  so  much  to  say  to  him.  Then, 
wondering  whether  he  was  about,  she  went  to 
the  window  and  looked  out ;  but  there  was  no- 
body there.  She  closed  the  window  again  and 
sat  just  beside  it;  the  time  went  on,  and  she 
wondered  whether  he  would  come,  asking  her- 
self whether  he  had  been  thinking  of  her  as 
she  of  him;  gradually  her  thoughts  grew 
vague,  and  a  kind  of  mist  came  over  them. 
She  nodded.  Suddenly  she  roused  herself 
with  a  start,  fancying  she  had  heard  some- 
thing ;  she  listened  again,  and  in  a  moment  the 
sound  was  repeated,  three  or  four  gentle  taps 
on  the  window.  She  opened  it  quickly  and 
whispered — 

"Jim." 

"Thet's  me,"  he  answered;  "come  aht." 

Closing  the  window,  she  went  into  the  pas- 
sage and  opened  the  street  door ;  it  was  hardly 
unlocked  before  Jim  had  pushed  his  way  in; 
partly  shutting  it  behind  him,  he  took  her  in 


130  Liza  of  Lambeth 

his  arms  and  hugged  her  to  his  breast.  She 
kissed  him  passionately. 

"I  thought  yer'd  come  ter-night,  Jim; 
summat  in  my  'eart  told  me  so.  But  you  'ave 
been  long." 

"I  wouldn't  come  before,  'cause  I  thought 
there'd  be  people  abaht.  Kiss  us!"  And 
again  he  pressed  his  lips  to  hers,  and  Liza 
nearly  fainted  with  the  delight  of  it. 

"Let's  go  for  a  walk,  shall  we?"  he  said. 

"Arright!"  They  were  speaking  in  whis- 
pers. "You  go  into  the  Road  through  the 
passage,  an'  I'll  go  by  the  street." 

"Yus,  thet's  right,"  and  kissing  her  once 
more,  he  slid  out,  and  she  closed  the  door  be- 
hind him. 

Then  going  back  to  get  her  hat,  she  came 
again  into  the  passage,  waiting  behind  the  door 
till  it  might  be  safe  for  her  to  venture.  She 
had  not  made  up  her  mind  to  risk  it,  when  she 
heard  a  key  put  in  the  lock,  and  she  hardly 
had  time  to  spring  back  to  prevent  herself 
from  being  hit  by  the  opening  door.  It  was 
a  man,  one  of  the  upstairs  lodgers. 

"  'Ulloa!"  he  said,  "  'oo's  there?" 


Liza  of  Lambeth  131 

"Mr.  'Odges!  Strike  me,  you  did  give  me 
a  turn;  I  was  just  goin'  aht."  She  blushed  to 
her  hair,  but  in  the  darkness  he  could  see  noth- 
ing. 

"Good-night,"  she  said,  and  went  out. 

She  walked  close  along  the  sides  of  the 
houses  like  a  thief,  and  the  policeman  as  she 
passed  him  turned  round  and  looked  at  her, 
wondering  whether  she  was  meditating  some 
illegal  deed.  She  breathed  freely  on  coming 
into  the  open  road,  and  seeing  Jim  skulking 
behind  a  tree,  ran  up  to  him,  and  in  the  shad- 
ows they  kissed  again. 


'Chapter  Nine 

THUS  began  a  time  of  love  and  joy.  As 
soon  as  her  work  was  over  and  she  had 
finished  tea,  Liza  would  slip  out  and  at  some 
appointed  spot  meet  Jim.  Usually  it  would 
be  at  the  church,  where  the  Westminster 
Bridge  Road  bends  down  to  get  to  the  river; 
and  they  would  go  off,  arm  in  arm,  till  they 
came  to  some  place  where  they  could  sit  down 
and  rest.  Sometimes  they  would  walk  along 
the  Albert  Embankment  to  Battersea  Park, 
and  here  sit  on  the  benches,  watching  the  chil- 
dren play.  The  female  cyclist  had  almost 
abandoned  Battersea  for  the  parks  on  the  other 
side  of  the  river,  but  often  enough  one  went 
by,  and  Liza,  with  the  old-fashioned  prejudice 
of  her  class,  would  look  after  the  rider  and 
make  some  remark  about  her,  not  seldom  more 
forcible  than  ladylike.  Both  Jim  and  she 
liked  children,  and  tiny,  ragged  urchins  would 
gather  round  to  have  rides  on  the  man's  knees 
or  mock  fights  with  Liza. 

133 


134  Liza  of  Lambeth 

They  thought  themselves  far  away  from  any 
one  in  Vere  Street,  but  twice,  as  they  were 
walking  along,  they  were  met  by  people  they 
knew.  Once  it  was  two  workmen  coming 
home  from  a  job  at  Vauxhall:  Liza  did  not 
see  them  till  they  were  quite  near;  she  imme- 
diately dropped  Jim's  arm,  and  they  both  cast 
their  eyes  to  the  ground  as  the  men  passed,  like 
ostriches,  expecting  that  if  they  did  not  look 
they  would  not  be  seen. 

"D'you  see  'em,  Jim?"  asked  Liza,  in  a  whis- 
per, when  they  had  gone  by.  "I  wonder  if 
they  see  us."  Almost  instinctively  she  turned 
round,  and  at  the  same  moment  one  of  the 
men  turned  too;  then  there  was  no  doubt 
about  it. 

"Thet  did  give  me  a  turn,"  she  said. 

"So  it  did  me,"  answered  Jim;  "I  simply 
went  'ot  all  over." 

"We  was  bally  fools,"  said  Liza;  "we 
oughter  'ave  spoken  to  'em!  D'you  think 
they'll  let  aht?" 

They  heard  nothing  of  it;  when  Jim  after- 
wards met  one  of  the  men  in  a  public-house 
he  did  not  mention  a  meeting,  and  they  thought 


Liza  of  Lambeth  135 

that  perhaps  they  had  not  been  recognised. 
But  the  second  time  was  worse. 

It  was  on  the  Albert  Embankment  again. 
They  were  met  by  a  party  of  four,  all  of  whom 
lived  in  the  street.  Liza's  heart  sank  within 
her,  for  there  was  no  chance  of  escape;  she 
thought  of  turning  quickly  and  walking  in  the 
opposite  direction,  but  there  was  not  time,  for 
the  men  had  already  seen  them.  She  whis- 
pered to  Jim — 

"Back  us  up,"  and  as  they  met  she  said  to 
one  of  the  men,  "  'Ulloa  there!  where  are  you 

off  tor 

The  men  stopped,  and  one  of  them  asked 
the  question  back. 

"Where  are  you  off  to?" 

"Me?  Oh,  I've  just  been  to  the  'orspital. 
One  of  the  gals  at  our  plice  is  queer,  an'  so 
I  says  ter  myself,  'I'll  go  an'  see  'er.' '  She 
faltered  a  little  as  she  began,  but  quickly  gath- 
ered herself  together,  lying  fluently  and  with- 
out hesitation. 

"An'  when  I  come  aht,"  she  went  on,  "  'oo 
should  I  see  just  passin'  the  'orspital  but  this 
'ere  cove,  an'  'e  says  to  me,  *  'Wot  cheer,'  says 


136  Liza  of  Lambeth 

'e,  'I'm  goin'  ter  Vaux'all,  come  an'  walk  a 
bit  of  the  wy  with  us.'  'Arright,'  says  I,  'I 
don't  mind  if  I  do.'  " 

One  man  winked,  and  another  said,  "Go 
it,  Liza!" 

She  fired  up  with  the  dignity  of  outraged  in- 
nocence. 

"Wot  d'yer  mean  by  thet?"  she  said;  "d'yer 
think  I'm  kiddin'?" 

"Kiddin'?  no!  You've  only  just  come  up 
from  the  country,  ain't  yer?" 

"Think  I'm  kiddin'?  Wot  d'yer  think  I 
want  ter  kid  for  ?  Liars  never  believe  any  one, 
thet's  fact." 

"Na  then,  Liza,  don't  be  saucy." 

"Saucy!  I'll  smack  yer  in  the  eye  if  yer 
sy  much  ter  me.  Come  on,"  she  said  to  Jim, 
who  had  been  standing  sheepishly  by;  and  they 
walked  away. 

The  men  shouted,  "Now  we  sha'n't  be  long!" 
and  went  off  laughing. 

After  that  they  decided  to  go  where  there 
was  no  chance  at  all  of  their  being  seen.  They 
did  not  meet  till  they  got  over  Westminster 
Bridge,  and  thence  they  made  their  way  into 


Liza  of  Lambeth  137 

the  Park ;  they  would  lie  down  on  the  grass  in 
one  another's  arms,  and  thus  spend  the  long 
summer  evenings.  After  the  heat  of  the  day 
there  would  be  a  gentle  breeze  in  the  Park, 
and  they  would  take  in  long  breaths  of  the 
air;  it  seemed  far  away  from  London,  it  was 
so  quiet  and  cool ;  and  Liza,  as  she  lay  by  Jim's 
side,  felt  her  love  for  him  overflowing  to  the 
rest  of  the  world  and  enveloping  mankind  it- 
self in  a  kind  of  grateful  happiness.  If  it 
could  only  have  lasted !  They  would  stay  and 
see  the  stars  shine  out  dimly,  one  by  one,  from 
the  blue  sky,  till  it  grew  late  and  the  blue  dark- 
ened into  black,  and  the  stars  glittered  on 
thousands  all  above  them.  But  as  the  nights 
grew  cooler,  they  found  it  cold  on  the  grass, 
and  the  time  they  had  there  seemed  too  short 
for  the  long  journey  they  had  to  make;  so, 
crossing  the  Bridge  as  before,  they  strolled 
along  the  Embankment  till  they  came  to  a  va- 
cant bench,  and  there  they  would  sit,  with  Liza 
nestling  close  up  to  her  lover  and  his  great 
arms  around  her.  The  rain  of  September 
made  no  difference  to  them ;  they  went  as  usual 
to  their  seat  beneath  the  trees,  and  Jim  would 


138  Liza  of  Lambeth 

take  Liza  on  his  knee,  and,  opening  his  coat, 
shelter  her  with  it,  while  she,  with  her  arms 
round  his  neck,  pressed  very  close  to  him,  and 
occasionally  gave  a  little  laugh  of  pleasure  and 
delight.  They  hardly  spoke  at  all  through 
these  evenings,  for  what  had  they  to  say  to 
one  another?  Often  without  exchanging  a 
word,  they  would  sit  for  an  hour  with  their 
faces  touching,  the  one  feeling  on  his  cheek  the 
hot  breath  from  the  other's  mouth;  while  at 
the  end  of  the  time  the  only  motion  was  an  up- 
raising of  Liza's  lips,  a  bending  down  of  Jim's, 
so  that  they  might  meet  and  kiss.  Sometimes 
Liza  fell  into  a  light  doze,  and  Jim  would  sit 
very  still  for  fear  of  waking  her,  and  when  she 
roused  herself  she  would  smile,  while  he  bent 
down  again  and  kissed  her.  They  were  very 
happy.  But  the  hours  passed  by  so  quickly, 
that  Big  Ben  striking  twelve  came  upon  them 
as  a  surprise,  and  unwillingly  they  got  up  and 
made  their  way  homewards;  their  partings 
were  never-ending — each  evening  Jim  refused 
to  let  her  go  from  his  arms,  and  tears  stood 
in  his  eyes  at  the  thought  of  the  separation. 


Liza  of  Lambeth  139 

"I'd  give  somethin',"  he  would  say,  "if  we 
could  be  togither  always." 

"Never  mind,  old  chap!"  Liza  would  an- 
swer, herself  half  crying,  "it  can't  be  'elped,  so 
we  must  jolly  well  lump  it." 

But  notwithstanding  all  their  precautions 
people  in  Vere  Street  appeared  to  know. 
First  of  all  Liza  noticed  that  the  women  did 
not  seem  quite  so  cordial  as  before,  and  she 
often  fancied  they  were  talking  of  her;  when 
she  passed  by  they  appeared  to  look  at  her, 
then  say  something  or  other,  and  perhaps  burst 
out  laughing;  but  when  she  approached  they 
would  immediately  stop  speaking,  and  keep  si- 
lence in  a  rather  awkward,  constrained  man- 
ner. For  a  long  time  she  was  unwilling  to  be- 
lieve that  there  was  any  change  in  them,  and 
Jim,  who  had  observed  nothing,  persuaded  her 
that  it  was  all  fancy.  But  gradually  it  became 
clearer,  and  Jim  had  to  agree  with  her  that 
somehow  or  other  people  had  found  out.  Once 
when  Liza  had  been  talking  to  Polly,  Jim's 
daughter,  Mrs.  Blakeston  had  called  her,  and 
when  the  girl  had  come  to  her  mother  Liza  saw 
that  she  spoke  angrily,  and  they  both  looked 


140  Liza  of  Lambeth 

across  at  her.  When  Liza  caught  Mrs. 
Blakeston's  eye  she  saw  in  her  face  a  surly 
scowl,  which  almost  frightened  her ;  she  wanted 
to  brave  it  out,  and  stepped  forward  a  little 
to  go  and  speak  with  the  woman,  but  Mrs. 
Blakeston,  standing  still,  looked  so  angrily  at 
her  that  she  was  afraid  to.  When  she  told 
Jim  his  face  grew  dark,  and  he  said,  "Blast 
the  woman!  I'll  give  'er  wot  for  if  she  says 
anythin'  ter  you." 

"Don't  strike  'er,  wotever  'appens,  will  yer, 
Jim?"  said  Liza. 

"She'd  better  tike  care  then!"  he  answered, 
and  he  told  her  that  lately  his  wife  had  been 
sulking,  and  not  speaking  to  him.  The  pre- 
vious night,  on  coming  home  after  his  day's 
work  and  bidding  her  "good  evenin',"  she  had 
turned  her  back  on  him  without  answering. 

"Can't  you  answer  when  you're  spoke  to?" 
he  had  said. 

"Good  evenin',"  she  had  replied,  sulkily, 
with  her  back  still  turned. 

After  that  Liza  noticed  that  Polly  avoided 
her. 

"Wot's  up,  Polly?"  she  said  to  her  one  day. 


Liza  of  Lambeth  14* 

"You  never  speaks  now;  'ave  you  'ad  yer 
tongue  cut  aht?" 

"Me?  I  ain't  got  nothin'  ter  speak  abaht, 
thet  I  knows  of,"  answered  Polly,  abruptly 
walking  off.  Liza  grew  very  red  and  quickly 
looked  to  see  if  any  one  had  noticed  the  inci- 
dent. A  couple  of  youths,  sitting  on  the  pave- 
ment, had  seen  it,  and  she  saw  them  nudge  one 
another  and  wink. 

Then  the  fellows  about  the  street  began  to 
chaff  her. 

"You  look  pale,"  said  one  of  a  group  to  her 
one  day. 

"You're  overworkin'  yerself,  you  are,"  said 
another. 

"Married  life  don't  agree  with  Liza,  thet's 
wot  it  is,"  added  a  third. 

"  'Oo  d'yer  think  yer  gettin'  at?  I  ain't 
married,  an'  never  like  ter  be,"  she  answered. 

"Liza  'as  all  the  pleasures  of  a  'usband  an* 
none  of  the  trouble." 

"Bli'me  if  I  know  wot  yer  mean!"  said  Liza. 

"Na,  of  course  not ;  you  don't  know  nothin', 
do  yer?" 


142  Liza  of  Lambeth 

"Innocent  as  a  bibe.  Our  Father  which  art 
in  'eaven!" 

'  'Aven't  been  in  London  long,  'ave  yer?" 

They  spoke  in  chorus,  and  Liza  stood  in 
front  of  them,  bewildered,  not  knowing  what 
to  answer. 

"Don't  you  mike  no  mistike  abaht  it,  Liza 
knows  a  thing  or  two." 

"O  me  darlin',  I  love  yer  fit  to  kill,  but  tike 
care  your  missus  ain't  round  the  corner."  This 
was  particularly  bold,  and  they  all  laughed. 

Liza  felt  very  uncomfortable,  and  fiddled 
about  with  her  apron,  wondering  how  she 
should  get  away. 

"Tike  care  yer  don't  git  into  trouble,  thet's 
all,"  said  one  of  the  men,  with  burlesque  grav- 
ity. 

"Yer  might  give  us  a  chanst,  Liza ;  you  come 
aht  with  me  one  evenin'.  You  oughter  give 
us  all  a  turn,  jist  ter  show  there's  no  ill-feelin'." 

"Bli'me  if  I  know  wot  yer  all  talkin'  abaht. 
You're  all  barmy  on  the  crumpet,"  said  Liza, 
indignantly,  and,  turning  her  back  on  them, 
made  for  home. 

Among  other  things  that  had  happened  was 


Liza  of  Lambeth  143 

Sally's  marriage.  One  Saturday  a  little  pro- 
cession had  started  from  Vere  Street,  consist- 
ing of  Sally,  in  a  state  of  giggling  excitement, 
her  fringe  magnificent  after  a  whole  week  of 
curling-papers,  clad  in  a  perfectly  new  vel- 
veteen dress  of  the  colour  known  as  electric 
blue ;  and  Harry,  rather  nervous  and  ill  at  ease 
in  the  unaccustomed  restraint  of  a  collar ;  these 
two  walked  arm  in  arm  and  were  followed  by 
Sally's  mother  and  uncle,  also  arm  in  arm, 
and  the  procession  was  brought  up  by  Harry's 
brother  and  a  friend.  They  started  with  a 
flourish  of  trumpets  and  an  old  boot,  and 
walked  down  the  middle  of  Vere  Street,  ac- 
companied by  the  neighbours'  good  wishes ;  but 
as  they  got  into  the  Westminster  Bridge  Road 
and  nearer  to  the  church,  the  happy  couple 
grew  silent,  and  Harry  began  to  perspire 
freely,  so  that  his  collar  gave  him  perfect  tor- 
ture. There  was  a  public-house  just  opposite 
the  church  and  it  was  suggested  that  they 
should  have  a  drink  before  going  in.  As  it 
was  a  solemn  occasion  they  went  into  the  pri- 
vate bar,  and  there  Sally's  uncle,  who  was  a 
man  of  means,  ordered  six  pots  of  beer. 


144  Liza  of  Lambeth 

"Feel  a  bit  nervous,  'Arry?"  asked  his 
friend. 

"Na,"  said  Harry,  as  if  he  had  been  used  to 
getting  married  every  day  of  his  life;  "bit 
warm,  thet's  all." 

"Your  very  good  'ealth,  Sally,"  said  her 
mother,  lifting  her  mug;  "this  is  the  last  time 
as  I  shall  ever  address  you  as  Miss." 

"An'  may  she  be  as  good  a  wife  as  you  was," 
added  Sally's  uncle. 

"Well,  I  don't  think  my  old  man  ever  'ad 
no  complaint  ter  mike  abaht  me.  I  did  my 
duty  by  'im,  although  it's  me  as  says  it," 
answered  the  good  lady. 

"Well,  mates,"  said  Harry's  brother,  "I 
reckon  it's  abaht  time  to  go  in.  So  'ere's  to  the 
'ealth  of  Mr.  'Enry  Atkins,  an'  'is  future 


missus." 


"An'  God  bless  'em!"  said  Sally's  mother. 

Then  they  went  into  the  church,  and  as  they 
solemnly  walked  up  the  aisle  a  pale-faced 
young  curate  came  out  of  the  vestry  and  down 
to  the  bottom  of  the  chancel.  The  beer  had  had 
a  calming  effect  on  their  troubled  minds,  and 
both  Harry  and  Sally  began  to  think  it  rather 


Liza  of  Lambeth  145 

a  good  joke.  They  smiled  on  each  other,  and 
at  those  parts  of  the  service  which  they  thought 
suggestive  violently  nudged  one  another  in  the 
ribs.  When  the  ring  had  to  be  produced, 
Harry  fumbled  about  in  different  pockets,  and 
his  brother  whispered: 

"Swop  me  bob,  'e's  gone  and  lorst  it!" 
However,  all  went  right,  and  Sally  having 
carefully  pocketed  the  certificate,  they  went 
out  and  had  another  drink  to  celebrate  the 
happy  event. 

In  the  evening  Liza  and  several  friends  came 
into  the  couple's  room,  which  they  had  taken 
in  the  same  house  as  Sally  had  lived  in  before, 
and  drank  the  health  of  the  bride  and  bride- 
groom till  they  thought  fit  to  retire. 


Chapter  Ten 

IT  was  November.  The  fine  weather  had 
quite  gone  now,  and  with  it  much  of  the 
sweet  pleasure  of  Jim  and  Liza's  love.  When 
they  came  out  at  night  on  the  Embankment 
they  found  it  cold  and  dreary;  sometimes  a 
light  fog  covered  the  river-banks,  and  made  the 
lamps  glow  out  dim  and  large;  a  light  rain 
would  be  falling,  which  sent  a  chill  into  their 
very  souls ;  foot  passengers  came  along  at  rare 
intervals,  holding  up  umbrellas,  and  staring 
straight  in  front  of  them  as  they  hurried  along 
in  the  damp  and  cold ;  a  cab  would  pass  rapidly 
by,  splashing  up  the  mud  on  each  side.  The 
benches  were  deserted,  except,  perhaps,  for 
some  poor  homeless  wretch  who  could  afford  no 
shelter,  and,  huddled  up  in  a  corner,  with  his 
head  buried  in  his  breast,  was  sleeping  heavily, 
like  a  dead  man.  The  wet  mud  made  Liza's 
skirts  cling  about  her  feet,  and  the  damp  would 
come  in  and  chill  her  legs  and  creep  up  her 

147 


148  Liza  of  Lambeth 

body,  till  she  shivered,  and  for  warmth  pressed 
herself  close  against  Jim.  Sometimes  they 
would  go  into  the  third-class  waiting-rooms  at 
Waterloo  or  Charing  Cross  and  sit  there,  but 
it  was  not  like  the  Park  or  the  Embankment 
on  summer  nights;  they  had  warmth,  but  the 
heat  made  their  wet  clothes  steam  and  smell, 
and  the  gas  flared  in  their  eyes,  and  they  hated 
the  people  perpetually  coming  in  and  out, 
opening  the  doors  and  letting  in  a  blast  of  cold 
air;  they  hated  the  noise  of  the  guards  and 
porters  shouting  out  the  departure  of  the 
trains,  the  shrill  whistling  of  the  steam-engine, 
the  hurry  and  bustle  and  confusion.  About 
eleven  o'clock,  when  the  trains  grew  less  fre- 
quent, they  got  some  quietness ;  but  then  their 
minds  were  troubled,  and  they  felt  heavy,  sad, 
and  miserable. 

One  evening  they  had  been  sitting  at  Water- 
loo Station;  it  was  foggy  outside — a  thick,  yel- 
low November  fog,  which  filled  the  waiting- 
room,  entering  the  lungs,  and  making  the 
mouth  taste  nasty  and  the  eyes  smart.  It  was 
about  half-past  eleven,  and  the  station  was  un- 
usually quiet;  a  few  passengers,  in  wraps  and 


Liza  of  Lambeth  149 

overcoats,  were  walking  to  and  fro,  waiting  for 
the  last  train,  and  one  or  two  porters  were 
standing  about  yawning.  Liza  aud  Jim  had 
remained  for  an  hour  in  perfect  silence,  filled 
with  a  gloomy  unhappiness,  as  of  a  great 
weight  on  their  brains.  Liza  was  sitting  for- 
ward, with  her  elbows  on  her  knees,  resting  her 
face  on  her  hands. 

"I  wish  I  was  straight,"  she  said  at  last, 
not  looking  up. 

"Well,  why  won't  yer  come  along  of  me 
altogether,  an,'  youll  be  arright  jthen?"  he 
answered. 

"Na,  that's  no  go;  I  can't  do  thet."  He 
had  often  asked  her  to  live  with  him  entirely, 
but  she  had  always  refused. 

"You  can  come  along  of  me,  an'  I'll  tike 
a  room  in  a  lodgin'  'ouse  in  'Olloway,  an'  we 
can  live  there  as  if  we  was  married." 

"Wot  abaht  yer  work?" 

"I  can  get  work  over  the  other  side  as  well 
as  I  can  'ere.  I'm  abaht  sick  of  the  wy  things 
is  goin'  on." 

"So  am  I ;  but  I  can't  leave  mother." 

"She  can  come  too." 


150  Liza  of  Lambeth 

"Not  when  I'm  not  married.  I  shouldn't 
like  'er  ter  know  as  I'd — as  I'd  gone  wrong." 

"Well,  I'll  marry  yer.  Swop  me  bob,  I 
wants  ter  badly  enough." 

"Yer  can't;  yer  married  already." 

"Thet  don't  matter!  If  I  give  the  missus 
so  much  a  week  aht  of  my  screw,  she'll  sign  a 
piper  ter  give  up  all  clime  ter  me,  an'  then  we 
can  get  spliced.  One  of  the  men  as  I  works 
with  done  thet,  an'  it  was  arright." 

Liza  shook  her  head. 

"Na,  yer  can't  do  thet  now;  it's  bigamy;  an' 
the  cop  tikes  yer,  an'  yer  gits  twelve  months' 
'ard  for  it." 

"But  swop  me  bob,  Liza,  I  can't  go  on  like 
this.  Yer  knows  the  missus — well,  there  ain't 
no  bloomin'  doubt  abaht  it,  she  knows  as  you 
an'  me  are  carryin'  on,  an'  she  mikes  no  bones 
abaht  lettin'  me  see  it." 

"She  don't  do  thet?" 

"Well,  she  don't  exactly  sy  it,  but  she  sulks 
an'  won't  speak,  an'  then  when  I  says  any  thin' 
she  rounds  on  me  an'  calls  me  all  the  nimes  she 
can  think  of.  I'd  give  'er  a  good  'idin',  but 
some'ow  I  don't  like  ter !  She  mikes  the  plice 


Liza  of  Lambeth  151 

a  'ell  ter  me,  an'  I'm  not  goin'  ter  stand  it  no 
longer!" 

"You'll  'ave  ter  sit  it,  then;  yer  can't  chuck 
it." 

"Yus  I  can,  an'  I  would  if  you'd  come  along 
of  me.  I  don't  believe  you  like  me  at  all,  Liza, 
or  you'd  come." 

She  turned  towards  him  and  put  her  arms 
round  his  neck. 

"Yer  know  I  do,  old  cock,"  she  said.  "I 
like  yer  better  than  any  one  else  in  the  world ; 
but  I  can't  go  awy  an'  leave  mother." 

"Bli'me  me  if  I  see  why;  she's  never  been 
much  ter  you.  She  mikes  yer  slave  awy  ter  pay 
the  rent,  an'  all  the  money  she  earns  she 
boozes." 

"Thet's  true,  she  ain't  been  wot  yer  might 
call  a  good  mother  ter  me — but  some'ow  she's 
my  mother,  an'  I  don't  like  ter  leave  'er  on  'er 
own,  now  she's  so  old — an'  she  can't  do  much 
with  the  rheumatics.  An'  besides,  Jim  dear, 
it  ain't  only  mother,  but  there's  yer  own  kids, 
yer  can't  leave  them." 

He  thought  for  a  while,  and  then  said : 

"You're  abaht  right  there,  Liza;  I  dunno  if 


152  Liza  of  Lambeth 

I  could  get  on  without  the  kids.  If  I  could 
only  tike  them  an'  you  too,  swop  me  bob,  I 
should  be  'appy." 

Liza  smiled  sadly. 

"So  yer  see,  Jim,  we're  in  a  bloomin'  'ole,  an' 
there  ain't  no  way  aht  of  it  thet  I  can  see." 

He  took  her  on  his  knees,  and  pressing  her 
to  him,  kissed  her  very  long  and  very  lovingly. 

"Well,  we  must  trust  ter  luck,"  she  said 
again,  "p'raps  somethin'  '11  'appen  soon,  an' 
everythin'  '11  come  right  in  the  end — when  we 
gets  four  balls  of  worsted  for  a  penny." 

It  was  past  twelve,  and  separating,  they 
went  by  different  ways  along  the  dreary,  wet, 
deserted  roads  till  they  came  to  Vere  Street. 

The  street  seemed  quite  different  to  Liza 
from  what  it  had  been  three  months  before. 
Tom,  the  humble  adorer,  had  quite  disappeared 
from  her  life.  One  day,  three  or  four  weeks 
after  the  August  Bank  Holiday,  she  saw  him 
dawdling  along  the  pavement,  and  it  suddenly 
struck  her  that  she  had  not  seen  him  for  a  long 
time ;  but  she  had  been  so  full  of  her  happiness 
that  she  had  been  unable  to  think  of  any  one 
but  Jim.  She  wondered  at  his  absence,  since 


Liza  of  Lambeth  153 

before  wherever  she  had  been  there  was  he 
certain  to  be  also.  She  passed  him,  but  to  her 
astonishment  he  did  not  speak  to  her.  She 
thought  by  some  wonder  he  had  not  seen  her, 
but  she  felt  his  gaze  resting  upon  her.  She 
turned  back,  and  suddenly  he  dropped  his  eyes 
and  looked  down,  walking  on  as  if  he  had  not 
seen  her,  but  blushing  furiously. 

"Tom,"  she  said,  "why  don't  yer  speak  ter 
me?" 

He  started  and  blushed  more  than  ever. 

"I  didn't  know  yer  was  there,"  he  stuttered. 

"Don't  tell  me,"  she  said;  "wot's  up?" 

"Nothin'  as  I  knows  of,"  he  answered,  un- 
easily. 

"I  ain't  offended  yer,  'ave  I,  Tom?" 

"Na,  not  as  I  knows  of,"  he  replied,  looking 
very  unhappy. 

"You  don't  ever  come  my  way  now,"  she 
said. 

"I  didn't  know  as  yer  wanted  ter  see  me." 

"Garn!  Yer  knows  I  likes  you  as  well  as 
anybody." 

"Yer  likes  so  many  people,  Liza,"  he  said, 
flushing. 


154  Liza  of  Lambeth 

"What  d'yer  mean?"  said  Liza,  indignantly, 
but  very  red ;  she  was  afraid  he  knew  now,  and 
it  was  from  him  especially  she  would  have  been 
so  glad  to  hide  it. 

"Nothin',"  he  answered. 

"One  doesn't  say  things  like  thet  without 
any  meanin',  unless  one's  a  blimed  fool." 

"You're  right  there,  Liza,"  he  answered. 
"I  am  a  blimed  fool."  He  looked  at  her  a  little 
reproachfully,  she  thought,  and  then  he  said 
"Goodbye,"  and  turned  away. 

At  first  she  was  horrified  that  he  should 
know  of  her  love  for  Jim;  but  then  she  did 
not  care.  After  all,  it  was  nobody's  business, 
and  what  did  anything  matter  as  long  as  she 
loved  Jim  and  Jim  loved  her  ?  Then  she  grew 
angry  that  Tom  should  suspect  her;  he  could 
know  nothing  but  that  some  of  the  men  had 
seen  her  with  Jim  near  Vauxhall,  and  it  seemed 
mean  that  he  should  condemn  her  for  that. 
Thenceforward,  when  she  ran  against  Tom, 
she  cut  him ;  he  never  tried  to  speak  to  her,  but 
as  she  passed  him,  pretending  to  look  in  front 
of  her,  she  could  see  that  he  always  blushed, 
and  she  fancied  his  eyes  were  very  sorrowful. 


Liza  of  Lambeth  155 

Then  several  weeks  went  by,  and  as  she  began 
to  feel  more  and  more  lonely  in  the  street,  she 
regretted  the  quarrel;  she  cried  a  little  as  she 
thought  that  she  had  lost  his  faithful,  gentle 
love,  and  she  would  have  much  liked  to  be 
friends  with  him  again.  If  he  had  only  made 
some  advance  she  would  have  welcomed  him 
so  cordially,  but  she  was  too  proud  to  go  to 
him  herself  and  beg  him  to  forgive  her — and 
then,  how  could  he  forgive  her? 

She  had  lost  Sally  too,  for  on  her  marriage 
Harry  had  made  her  give  up  the  factory;  he 
was  a  young  man  with  principles  worthy  of  a 
Member  of  Parliament,  and  he  had  said : 

"A  woman's  plice  is  'er  'ome,  an'  if  'er  old 
man  can't  afford  ter  keep  'er  without  'er  work- 
in'  in  a  factory — well,  all  I  can  say  is  thet  'e'd 
better  go  an'  git  single." 

"Quite  right  too,"  agreed  his  mother-in- 
law  ;  "an'  wot's  more,  she'll  'ave  a  baby  ter  look 
after  soon,  an'  thet '11  tike  'er  all  'er  time,  an' 
there's  no  one  as  knows  thet  better  than  me,  for 
I've  'ad  twelve,  ter  sy  nothin'  of  two  stills  an* 
one  miss." 

Liza  quite  envied  Sally  her  happiness,  for 


156  Liza  of  Lambeth 

the  bride  was  brimming  over  with  song  and 
laughter;  her  happiness  overwhelmed  her. 

"I  am  'appy,"  she  said  to  Liza  one  day  a  few 
weeks  after  her  marriage.  "You  dunno  wot  a 
good  sort  'Arry  is.  'E's  just  a  darlin',  an' 
there's  no  mistikin'  it.  I  don't  care  wot  other 
people  sy,  but  wot  I  says  is,  there's  nothin'  like 
marriage.  Never  a  cross  word  passes  his  lips, 
an'  mother  'as  all  'er  meals  with  us,  an'  'e  says 
all  the  better.  Well,  I'm  thet  'appy  I  simply 
dunno  if  I'm  standin'  on  by  'ead  or  on  my 
'eels." 

But  alas!  it  did  not  last  too  long.  Sally  was 
not  so  full  of  joy  when  next  Liza  met  her,  and 
one  day  her  eyes  looked  very  much  as  if  she 
had  been  crying. 

"Wot's  the  matter?"  asked  Liza,  looking  at 
her.  "Wot  'ave  yer  been  blubberin'  abaht?" 

"Me?"  said  Sally,  getting  very  red.  "Oh, 
I've  got  a  bit  of  a  toothache,  an' — well,  I'm 
rather  a  fool  like,  an'  it  'urt  me  so  much  that  I 
couldn't  'elp  cryin'." 

Liza  was  not  satisfied,  but  could  get  nothing 
further  out  of  her.  Then  one  day  it  came  out. 
It  was  a  Saturday  night,  the  time  when  women 


Liza  of  Lambeth  157 

in  Vere  Street  weep.  Liza  went  up  into  Sal- 
ly's room  for  a  few  minutes  on  her  way  to  the 
Westminster  Bridge  Road,  where  she  was  to 
meet  Jim.  Harry  had  taken  the  top  back 
room,  and  Liza,  climbing  up  the  second  flight 
of  stairs,  called  out  as  usual : 

"Wot  ho,  Sally!" 

The  door  remained  shut,  although  Liza 
could  see  that  there  was  a  light  in  the  room; 
but  on  getting  to  the  door  she  stood  still,  for 
she  heard  the  sound  of  sobbing.  She  listened 
for  a  minute  and  then  knocked;  there  was  a 
little  flurry  inside,  and  some  one  called  out : 

"'Go's  there?" 

"Only  me,"  said  Liza,  opening  the  door.  As 
she  did  so  she  saw  Sally  rapidly  wipe  her  eyes 
and  put  her  handkerchief  away.  Her  mother 
was  sitting  by  her  side,  evidently  comforting 
her. 

"Wot's  up,  Sal?"  asked  Liza. 

"Nothin',"  answered  Sally,  with  a  brave 
little  gasp  to  stop  the  crying,  turning  her  face 
downwards  so  that  Liza  should  not  see  the 
tears  in  her  eyes ;  but  they  were  too  strong  for 
her,  and,  quickly  taking  out  her  handkerchief, 


158  Liza  of  Lambeth 

she  hid  her  face  in  it  and  began  to  sob  broken- 
heartedly.  Liza  looked  at  the  mother  in  in- 
terrogation. 

"Oh,  it's  thet  man  again!"  said  the  lady, 
snorting  and  tossing  her  head." 

"Not  'Arry!"  asked  Liza,  in  surprise. 

"Not  'Arry— 'oo  is  it  if  it  ain't  'Arry?  The 
villin!" 

"Wot's  'e  been  doin',  then?"  asked  Liza 
again. 

"Beatin'  'er,  that's  wot  Vs  been  doin' !  Oh, 
the  villin,  'e  oughter  be  ashimed  of  'isself,  'e 
ought!" 

"I  didn't  know  'e  was  like  that!"  said  Liza. 

"Didn't  yer?  I  thought  the  'ole  street  knew 
it  by  now."  said  Mrs.  Cooper,  indignantly. 
"Oh,  Vs  a  wrong  un,  'e  is." 

"It  wasn't  'is  fault,"  put  in  Sally,  amidst 
her  sobs ;  "it's  only  because  'e's  'ad  a  little  drop 
too  much.  'E's  arright  when  'e's  sober." 

"A  little  drop  too  much!  I  should  just 
think  'e  'ad,  the  beast!  I'd  give  it  'im  if  I  was 
a  man.  They're  all  like  thet — 'usbinds  is  all 
alike;  they're  arright  when  they're  sober — 
sometimes — but  when  they've  got  the  liquor  in 


Liza  of  Lambeth  159 

'em,  they're  beasts,  an'  no  mistike.  I  'ad  a 
'usbind  myself  for  five-an'-twenty  years,  an'  I 
know  'em." 

"Well,  mother,"  sobbed  Sally,  "it  was  all 
my  fault.  I  should  'ave  come  'ome  earlier." 

"Na,  it  wasn't  your  fault  at  all.  Just  you 
look  'ere,  Liza :  this  is  wot  'e  done  an'  call  'isself 
a  man.  Just  because  Sally'd  gone  aht  to  'ave  a 
chat  with  Mrs.  McLeod  in  the  next  'ouse,  when 
she  come  in  'e  start  bangin'  'er  abaht.  An' 
me  too,  wot  d'yer  think  of  that !"  Mrs.  Cooper 
was  quite  purple  with  indignation. 

"Yus,"  she  went  on,  "thet's  a  man  for  yer. 
Of  course  I  wasn't  goin'  ter  stand  there  an'  see 
my  daughter  bein'  knocked  abaht;  it  wasn't 
likely — was  it?  An'  'e  rounds  on  me,  an'  'e 
'its  me  with  'is  fist.  Look  'ere."  She  pulled 
up  her  sleeves  and  showed  two  red  and  brawny 
arms.  '  'E's  bruised  my  arms;  I  thought  'e'd 
broken  it  at  fust.  If  I  'adn't  put  my  arm  up, 
'e'd  'ave  got  me  on  the  'ead,  an'  'e  might  'ave 
killed  me.  An'  I  says  to  'im,  'If  you  touch  me 
again,  I'll  go  ter  the  police-station,  thet  I  will !' 
Well,  that  frightened  'im  a  bit,  an'  then  didn't 
I  let  'im  'ave  it !  'You  call  yerself  a  man,'  says 


160  Liza  of  Lambeth 

I,  'an'  you  ain't  fit  ter  clean  the  drains  aht.' 
You  should  'ave  'card  the  language  'e  used. 
'You  dirty  old  woman,'  says  'e,  'you  go  away; 
you're  always  inter ferin'  with  me.'  Well,  I 
don't  like  ter  repeat  wot  'e  said,  and  thet's  the 
truth.  An'  I  says  ter  'im,  'I  wish  yer'd  never 
married  my  daughter,  an'  if  I'd  known  you  was 
like  this  I'd  'ave  died  sooner  than  let  yer.' ' 

"Well,  I  didn't  know  'e  was  like  thet!"  said 
Liza. 

"  'E  was  arright  at  fust,"  said  Sally. 

"Yus,  they're  always  arright  at  fust!  But 
ter  think  it  should  'ave  come  to  this  now,  when 
they  ain't  been  married  three  months,  an'  the 
first  child  not  born  yet!  I  think  it's  dis- 
graceful." 

Liza  stayed  a  little  while  longer,  helping  to 
comfort  Sally,  who  kept  pathetically  taking  to 
herself  all  the  blame  of  the  dispute ;  and  then, 
bidding  her  good-night  and  better  luck,  she 
slid  off  to  meet  Jim. 

When  she  reached  the  appointed  spot  he 
was  not  to  be  found.  She  waited  for  some  time, 
and  at  last  saw  him  come  out  of  the  neighbour- 
ing pub. 


Liza  of  Lambeth  i6r 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^m^^^^m^m*^***^m^m~^^*^m****^~'*^^^*mmmmT- 

"Good-night,  Jim,"  she  said  as  she  came  up 
to  him. 

"So  you've  turned  up,  'ave  yer?"  he 
answered  roughly,  turning  round. 

"Wot's  the  matter,  Jim?"  she  asked,  in  a 
frightened  way,  for  he  had  never  before  spoken 
to  her  in  that  manner. 

"Nice  thing  ter  keep  me  witin'  all  night  for 
yer  to  come  aht!" 

She  saw  that  he  had  been  drinking,  and 
answered  humbly: 

"I'm  very  sorry,  Jim,  but  I  went  in  to  Sally, 
an'  'er  bloke  'ad  been  knockin'  'er  abaht,  an* 
so  I  sat  with  'er  a  bit." 

"Knockin'  'er  abaht,  'ad  'e?  and  serve  'er 
damn  well  right,  too ;  an'  there's  many  more  as 
could  do  with  a  good  'idin' !" 

Liza  did  not  answer.  He  looked  at  her,, 
and  then  suddenly  said : 

"Come  in  an'  'ave  a  drink." 

"Na,  I'm  not  thirsty;  I  don't  want  a  drink,'" 
she  answered.  j 

"Come  on,"  he  said,  angrily. 

"Na,  Jim,  you've  had  quite  enough  already.** 

"  'Oo  are  you  talkin'  ter?"  he  said.    "Don't 


1 62  Liza  of  Lambeth 

come  if  yer  don't  want  ter ;  I'll  go  an'  'ave  one 
by  myself." 

"Na,  Jim,  don't."  She  caught  hold  of  his 
arm. 

"Yus  I  shall,"  he  said,  going  towards  the 
pub,  while  she  held  him  back.  "Let  me  go, 
can't  yer!  Let  me  go!"  He  roughly  pulled 
his  arm  away  from  her.  As  she  tried  to  catch 
hold  of  it  again,  he  pushed  her  back,  and  in 
the  little  scuffle  caught  her  a  blow  over  the 
face. 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  "you  did  'urt!" 

He  was  sobered  at  once. 

"Liza,"  he  said.  "I  ain't  'urt  yer?"  She 
didn't  answer,  and  he  took  her  in  his  arms. 
"Liza,  I  ain't  'urt  you,  'ave  I?  Say  I  ain't 
'urt  yer.  I'm  so  sorry;  I  beg  your  pardon, 
Liza." 

"Arright,  old  chap,"  she  said,  smiling 
charmingly  on  him.  "It  wasn't  the  blow  that 
'urt  me  much ;  it  was  the  wy  you  was  talkin'." 

"I  didn't  mean  it,  Liza."  He  was  so  con- 
trite, he  could  not  humble  himself  enough.  "I 
'ad  another  bloomin'  row  with  the  missus  ter- 
night,  an'  then  when  I  didn't  find  you  'ere,  an' 


Liza  of  Lambeth  163 

I  kept  witin'  an'  witin — well,  I  fair  downright 
lost  my  'air.  An'  I  'ad  two  or  three  pints  of 
four  'alf,  an' — well,  I  dunno " 

"Never  mind,  old  cock,  I  can  stand  more 
than  thet  as  long  as  yer  loves  me." 

He  kissed  her  and  they  were  quite  friends 
again.  But  the  little  quarrel  had  another  effect 
which  was  worse  for  Liza.  When  she  woke  up 
next  morning  she  noticed  a  slight  soreness  over 
the  ridge  of  bone  under  the  left  eye,  and  on 
looking  in  the  glass  saw  that  it  was  black  and 
blue  and  green.  She  bathed  it,  but  it  remained, 
and  seemed  to  get  more  marked.  She  was  ter- 
rified lest  people  should  see  it,  and  kept  indoors 
all  day ;  but  next  morning  it  was  blacker  than 
ever.  She  went  to  the  factory  with  her  hat 
over  her  eyes  and  her  head  bent  down;  she 
escaped  observation,  but  on  the  way  home  she 
was  not  so  lucky.  The  sharp  eyes  of  some 
girls  noticed  it  first. 

"Wot's  the  matter  with  yer  eye?"  asked  one 
of  them. 

"Me?"  answered  Liza,  putting  her  hand  up 
as  if  in  ignorance.  "Nothin'  thet  I  knows  of." 


164  Liza  of  Lambeth 

Two  or  three  young  men  were  standing  by, 
and  hearing  the  girl,  looked  up. 

"Why,  yer've  got  a  black  eye,  Liza!" 
"Me?    I  ain't  got  no  black  eye!" 
"Yus,  you  'ave;  'ow  d'yer  get  it?" 
"I  dunno,"  said  Liza.    "I  didn't  know  I  'ad 
one." 

"Garn!  tell  us  another!"  was  the  answer. 
"One  doesn't  git  a  black  eye  without  knowin' 
*ow  they  got  it." 

"Well,  I  did  fall  against  the  chest  of  drawers 
yesterday;  I  suppose  I  must  'ave  got  it  then." 
"Oh  yes,  we  believe  thet,  don't  we?" 
"I  didn't  know  'e  was  so  'andy  with  'is 
dukes,  did  you,  Ted?"  asked  one  man  of  an- 
other. 

Liza  felt  herself  grow  red  to  the  tips  of  her 
toes. 

"Who?"  she  asked. 

"Never  you  mind ;  nobody  you  know." 
At  that  moment  Jim's  wife   passed   and 
looked  at  her  with  a  scowl.    Liza  wished  her- 
self a  hundred  miles  away,  and  blushed  more 
violently  than  ever. 


Liza  of  Lambeth  165 

"Wot  are  yer  blushin'  abaht?"  ingenuously 
asked  one  of  the  girls. 

And  they  all  looked  from  her  to  Mrs.  Blake- 
ston  and  back  again.  Some  one  said,  "  'Ow 
abaht  our  Sunday  boots  on  now?"  And  a 
titter  went  through  them.  Liza's  nerve  de- 
serted her;  she  could  think  of  nothing  to  say, 
and  a  sob  burst  from  her.  To  hide  the  tears 
which  were  coming  from  her  eyes  she  turned 
away  and  walked  homewards.  Immediately  a 
great  shout  of  laughter  broke  from  the  group, 
and  she  heard  them  positively  screaming  till 
she  got  into  her  own  house. 


Chapter  Eleven 

A  FEW  days  afterwards  Liza  was  talking 
with  Sally,  who  did  not  seem  very  much 
happier  than  when  Liza  had  last  seen  her. 

"  'E  ain't  wot  I  thought  'e  was,"  she  said. 
"I  don't  mind  sayin'  thet;  but  'e  'as  a  lot  ter 
put  up  with;  I  expect  I'm  rather  tryin'  some- 
times, an'  'e  means  well.  P'raps  'e'll  be  kinder 
like  when  the  biby's  born." 

"Cheer  up,  old  gal,"  answered  Liza,  who  had 
seen  something  of  the  lives  of  many  married 
couples;  "it  won't  seem  so  bad  after  yer  gets 
used  to  it;  it's  a  bit  disappointin'  at  fust,  but 
yer  gits  not  ter  mind  it." 

After  a  little  Sally  said  she  must  go  and 
see  about  her  husband's  tea.  She  said  good- 
bye, and  then  rather  awkwardly: 

"Say,  Liza,  tike  care  of  yerself !" 

"Tike  care  of  meself — why?"  asked  Liza,  in 
surprise. 

"Yer  know  wot  I  mean." 

167 


1 68  Liza  of  Lambeth 

"Na,  I'm  darned  if  I  do." 

"Thet  there  Mrs.  Blakeston,  she's  lookin' 
aht  for  you." 

"Mrs.  Blakeston!"    Liza  was  startled. 

"  Yus ;  she  says  she's  goin'  ter  give  you  some- 
thin'  if  she  can  git  'old  on  yer.  I  should  advise 
yer  ter  tike  care." 

"Me?"  said  Liza. 

Sally  looked  away,  so  as  not  to  see  the  other's 
face. 

"She  says  as  'ow  yer've  been  messin'  abaht 
with  'er  old  man." 

Liza  didn't  say  anything,  and  Sally,  repeat- 
ing her  goodbye,  slid  off. 

Liza  felt  a  chill  run  through  her.  She  had 
several  times  noticed  a  scowl  and  a  look  of 
anger  on  Mrs.  Blakeston's  face,  and  she  had 
avoided  her  as  much  as  possible;  but  she  had 
no  idea  that  the  woman  meant  to  do  anything 
to  her.  She  was  very  frightened,  a  cold  sweat 
broke  out  over  her  face.  If  Mrs.  Blakeston 
got  hold  of  her  she  would  be  helpless,  she  was 
so  small  and  weak,  while  the  other  was  strong 
and  muscular.  Liza  wondered  what  she  would 
do  if  she  did  catch  her. 


Liza  of  Lambeth  169 

That  night  she  told  Jim,  and  tried  to  make  a 
joke  of  it. 

"I  say,  Jim,  your  missus — she  says  she's 
goin'  ter  give  me  socks  if  she  catches  me." 

"My  missus!    'Ow  d'yer  know?" 

"She's  been  tellin'  people  in  the  street." 

"Go'  lumme,"  said  Jim,  furious,  "if  she  dares 
ter  touch  a  'air  of  your  'ead,  swop  me  dicky  I'll 
give  'er  sich  a  'idin'  as  she  never  'ad  before! 
By  God,  give  me  the  chanst,  an'  I  would  let  'er 
'ave  it;  I'm  bloomin'  well  sick  of  'er  sulks!" 
He  clenched  his  fist  as  he  spoke. 

Liza  was  a  coward.  She  could  not  help 
thinking  of  her  enemy's  threat;  it  got  on  her 
nerves,  and  she  hardly  dared  go  out  for  fear 
of  meeting  her;  she  would  look  nervously  in 
front  of  her,  quickly  turning  round  if  she  saw 
in  the  distance  any  one  resembling  Mrs.  Blake- 
ston.  She  dreamed  of  her  at  night ;  she  saw  the 
big,  powerful  form,  the  heavy,  frowning  face, 
and  the  curiously  braided  brown  hair ;  and  she 
would  wake  up  with  a  cry  and  find  herself 
bathed  in  sweat. 

It  was  the  Saturday  afternoon  following 
this,  a  chill  November  day,  with  the  roads 


170  Liza  of  Lambeth 

sloshy,  and  a  grey,  comfortless  sky,  that  made 
one's  spirits  sink.  It  was  about  three  o'clock, 
and  Liza  was  coming  home  from  work ;  she  got 
into  Vere  Street,  and  was  walking  quickly  to- 
wards her  house  when  she  saw  Mrs.  Blakeston 
coming  towards  her.  Her  heart  gave  a  great 
jump.  Turning,  she  walked  rapidly  in  the 
direction  she  had  come;  with  a  screw  round  of 
her  eyes  she  saw  that  she  was  being  followed, 
and  therefore  went  straight  out  of  Vere  Street. 
She  went  right  round,  meaning  to  get  into  the 
street  from  the  other  end,  and,  unobserved, 
slip  into  her  house,  which  was  then  quite  close ; 
but  she  dared  not  risk  it  immediately  for  fear 
Mrs.  Blakeston  should  still  be  there;  so  she 
waited  about  for  half  an  hour.  It  seemed  an 
age.  Finally,  taking  her  courage  in  both 
hands,  she  turned  the  corner  and  entered  Vere 
Street.  She  nearly  ran  into  the  arms  of  Mrs. 
Blakeston,  who  was  standing  close  to  the  pub- 
lic-house door. 

Liza  gave  a  little  cry,  and  the  woman  said, 
with  a  sneer: 

"Yer  didn't  expect  ter  see  me,  did  yer?" 
Liza  did  not  answer,  but  tried  to  walk  past 


Liza  of  Lambeth  171 

, 

her.  Mrs.  Blakeston  stepped  forward  and 
blocked  her  way. 

"  Yer  seem  ter  be  in  a  mighty  fine  'urry."  she 
said. 

"Yus,  I've  got  ter  git  'ome,"  said  Liza, 
again  trying  to  pass. 

"But  supposin'  I  don't  let  yer?"  remarked 
Mrs.  Blakeston,  preventing  her  from  moving. 

"Why  don't  yer  leave  me  alone?"  Liza  said. 
"I  ain't  interferin'  with  you!" 

"Not  interferin'  with  me,  aren't  yer?  I  like 
thet!" 

"Let  me  go  by,"  said  Liza.  "I  don't  want 
ter  talk  ter  you." 

"Na,  I  know  thet,"  said  the  other;  "but  I 
want  ter  talk  ter  you,  an'  I  sha'n't  let  yer  go 
until  I've  said  wot  I  wants  ter  sy." 

Liza  looked  round  for  help.  At  the  begin- 
ning of  the  altercation  the  loafers  about  the 
public-house  had  looked  up  with  interest,  and 
gradually  gathered  round  in  a  little  circle. 
Passers-by  had  joined  in,  and  a  number  of 
other  people  in  the  street,  seeing  the  crowd, 
added  themselves  to  it  to  see  what  was  going 
on.  Liza  saw  that  all  eyes  were  fixed  on  her, 


172  Liza  of  Lambeth 

the  men  amused  and  excited,  the  women  un- 
sympathetic, rather  virtuously  indignant.  Liza 
wanted  to  ask  for  help,  but  there  were  so  many 
people,  and  they  all  seemed  so  much  against 
her,  that  she  had  not  the  courage  to.  So,  hav- 
ing surveyed  the  crowd,  she  turned  her  eyes  to 
Mrs.  Blakeston,  and  stood  in  front  of  her, 
trembling  a  little,  and  very  white. 

"Na,  'e  ain't  there,"  said  Mrs.  Blakeston, 
sneeringly,  "so  yer  needn't  look  for  'im." 

"I  dunno  wot  yer  mean,"  answered  Liza, 
"an  I  want  ter  go  awy.  I  ain't  done  nothin' 
ter  you." 

"Not  done  nothin'  ter  me?"  furiously  re- 
peated the  woman.  "I'll  tell  yer  wot  yer've 
done  ter  me — you've  robbed  me  of  my  'usbind, 
you  'ave.  I  never  'ad  a  word  with  my  'usbind 
until  you  took  'im  from  me.  An'  now  it's  all 
you  with  'im.  'E's  got  no  time  for  'is  wife  an' 
family — it's  all  you.  An'  'is  money,  too.  I 
never  git  a  penny  of  it;  if  it  weren't  for  the 
little  bit  I  'ad  saved  up  in  the  siving-bank,  me 
an'  my  children  'ud  be  starvin'  now!  An'  all 
through  you!"  She  shook  her  fist  at  her. 

"I  never  'ad  any  money  from  any  one." 


Liza  of  Lambeth  173 

"Don't  talk  ter  me;  I  know  yer  did.  Yer 
dirty  bitch !  You  oughter  be  ashimed  of  your- 
self tikin'  a  married  man  from  'is  family,  an' 
'im  old  enough  ter  be  yer  father." 

"She's  right  there!"  said  one  or  two  of  the 
onlooking  women.  "There  can't  be  no  good 
in  'er  if  she  tikes  somebody  else's  'usbind." 

"I'll  give  it  yer!"  proceeded  Mrs.  Blakeston, 
getting  more  hot  and  excited,  brandishing  her 
fist,  and  speaking  in  a  loud  voice,  hoarse  with 
rage.  "Oh,  I've  been  tryin'  ter  git  'old  on  yer 
this  four  weeks.  Why,  you're  a  prostitute — 
thet's  wot  you  are!" 

"I'm  not!"  answered  Liza,  indignantly. 

"Yus,  you  are,"  repeated  Mrs.  Blakeston, 
advancing  menacingly,  so  that  Liza  shrank 
back.  "An'  wot's  more,  'e  treats  yer  like  one. 
I  know  'oo  give  yer  thet  black  eye ;  thet  shows 
what  'e  thinks  of  yer !  An'  serve  yer  bloomin' 
well  right  if  'e'd  give  yer  one  in  both  eyes!" 

Mrs.  Blakeston  stood  close  in  front  of  her, 
her  heavy  jaw  protruded  and  the  frown  of  her 
eyebrows  dark  and  stern.  For  a  moment  she 
stood  silent,  contemplating  Liza,  while  the  sur- 
rounders  looked  on  in  breathless  interest. 


174  Liza  of  Lambeth 

"Yer  dirty  little  bitch,  you!"  she  said  at  last. 
"Tike  that!"  and  with  her  open  hand  she  gave 
her  a  sharp  smack  on  the  cheek. 

Liza  started  back  with  a  cry  and  put  her 
hand  up  to  her  face. 

"An5  tike  thet!"  added  Mrs.  Blakeston,  re- 
peating the  blow.  Then,  gathering  up  the 
spittle  in  her  mouth,  she  spat  in  Liza's  face. 

Liza  sprang  on  her,  and  with  her  hands 
spread  out  like  claws  buried  her  nails  in  the 
woman's  face  and  drew  them  down  her  cheeks. 
Mrs.  Blakeston  caught  hold  of  her  hair  with 
both  hands  and  tugged  at  it  as  hard  as  she 
could.  But  they  were  immediately  separated. 

'  'Ere,  'old  'ard!"  said  some  of  the  men. 
"Fight  it  aht  fair  and  square.  Don't  go 
scratchin'  and  maulin'  like  thet." 

"I'll  fight  'er;  I  don't  mind!"  shouted  Mrs. 
Blakeston,  tucking  up  her  sleeves  and  savagely 
glaring  at  her  opponent. 

Liza  stood  in  front  of  her,  pale  and  trem- 
bling ;  as  she  looked  at  her  enemy,  and  saw  the 
long  red  marks  of  her  nails,  with  blood  coming 
from  one  or  two  of  them,  she  shrank  back. 

"I  don't  want  ter  fight,"  she  said,  hoarsely. 


Liza  of  Lambeth  175 

"Na,  I  don't  suppose  yer  do,"  hissed  the 
other,  "but  yer'll  damn  well  'ave  ter !" 

"She's  ever  so  much  bigger  than  me;  I've  got 
no  chanst,"  added  Liza,  tearfully. 

"You  should  'ave  thought  of  thet  before. 
Come  on!"  and  with  these  words  Mrs.  Blake- 
ston  rushed  upon  her.  She  hit  her  with  both 
fists  one  after  the  other.  Liza  did  not  try  to 
guard  herself,  but  imitating  the  woman's  mo- 
tion, hit  out  with  her  own  fists;  and  for  a 
minute  or  two  they  continued  thus,  raining 
blows  on  one  another  with  the  same  wind-mill 
motion  of  the  arms.  But  Liza  could  not  stand 
against  the  other  woman's  weight;  the  blows 
came  down  heavy  and  rapid  all  over  her  face 
and  head.  She  put  up  her  hands  to  cover  her 
face  and  turned  her  head  away,  while  Mrs. 
Blakeston  kept  on  hitting  mercilessly. 

"Time!"  shouted  some  of  the  men— "Time!" 
and  Mrs.  Blakeston  stopped  to  rest  herself. 

"It  don't  seem  'ardly  fair  to  set  them  two 
on  tergether.  Liza's  got  no  chanst  against  a 
big  woman  like  thet,"  said  a  man  among  the 
crowd. 

"Well,    it's    'er    own    fault,"    answered    a 


176  Liza  of  Lambeth 

woman;  "she  didn't  oughter  mess  about  with 
'er  'usbind." 

"Well,  I  don't  think  it's  right,"  added  an- 
other man.  "She's  gettin'  it  too  much." 

"An'  serve  'er  right  too!"  said  one  of  the 
women.  "She  deserves  all  she  gets,  an'  a  damn 
sight  more  inter  the  bargain." 

"Quite  right,"  put  in  a  third;  "a  woman's 
got  no  right  ter  tike  some  one's  'usbind  from 
'er.  An'  if  she  does  she's  bloomin'  lucky  if  she 
gits  off  with  a  'idin' — thet's  wot  I  think." 

"So  do  I.  But  I  wouldn't  'ave  thought  it 
of  Liza.  I  never  thought  she  was  a  wrong 
'un." 

"Pretty  specimen  she  is!"  said  a  little  dark 
woman,  who  looked  like  a  Jewess.  "If  she 
messed  abaht  with  my  old  man,  I'd  stick  'er — 
I  swear  I  would!" 

"Now  she's  been  carryin'  on  with  one,  she'll 
try  an'  git  others — you  see  if  she  don't." 

"She'd  better  not  come  round  my  'ouse;  I'll 
soon  give  'er  wot  for." 

Meanwhile  Liza  was  standing  at  one  corner 
of  the  ring,  trembling  all  over  and  crying  bit- 
terly. One  of  her  eyes  was  bunged  up,  and 


Liza  of  Lambeth  177 

her  hair,  all  dishevelled,  was  hanging  down 
over  her  face.  Two  young  fellows,  who  had 
constituted  themselves  her  seconds,  were  stand- 
ing in  front  of  her,  offering  rather  ironical  com- 
fort. One  of  them  had  taken  the  bottom  cor- 
ners of  her  apron  and  was  fanning  her  with  it, 
while  the  other  was  showing  her  how  to  stand 
and  hold  her  arms. 

"You  stand  up  to  'er,  Liza,"  he  was  saying; 
"there  ain't  no  good  funkin'  it,  you'll  simply 
get  it  all  the  worse.  You  'it  'er  back.  Give  'er 
one  on  the  boko,  like  this — see ;  yer  must  show 
a  bit  of  pluck,  yer  know." 

Liza  tried  to  check  her  sobs. 

"Yus,  'it  'er  'ard,  that's  wot  yer've  got  ter 
do,"  said  the  other.  "An'  if  yer  find  she's 
gettin'  the  better  on  yer,  you  close  on  'er  and 
catch  'old  of  'er  'air  and  scratch  'er." 

"You've  marked  'er  with  yer  nails,  Liza. 
By  gosh,  you  did  fly  on  her  when  she  spat  at 
yer!  thet's  the  way  ter  do  the  job!" 

Then  turning  to  his  fellow  he  said — 

"D'yer  remember  thet  fight  as  old  Mother 
Gregg  'ad  with  another  woman  in  the  street 
last  year?" 


178  Liza  of  Lambeth 

"Na,"  he  answered,  "I  never  saw  thet." 

"It  was  a  cawker;  an'  the  cops  come  in  and 
took  'em  both  off  ter  quod." 

Liza  wished  the  policemen  would  come  and 
take  her  off ;  she  would  willingly  have  gone  to 
prison  to  escape  the  fiend  in  front  of  her;  but 
no  help  came. 

"Time's  up!"  shouted  the  referee.  "Fire 
away !" 

"Tike  care  of  the  cops!"  shouted  a  man. 

"There's  no  fear  abaht  them,"  answered 
somebody  else.  "They  always  keeps  out  of  the 
way  when  there's  anythin'  goin'  on." 

"Fire  away!" 

Mrs.  Blakeston  attacked  Liza  madly;  but 
the  girl  stood  up  bravely,  and  as  well  as  she 
could  gave  back  the  blows  she  received.  The 
spectators  grew  tremendously  excited. 

"Got  'im  again!"  they  shouted.  "Give  it  'er, 
Liza,  thet's  a  good  'un! — 'it  'er  'ard!" 

"Two  ter  one  on  the  old  'un!"  shouted  a 
sporting  gentleman;  but  Liza  found  no 
backers. 

"Ain't  she  standin'  up  well  now  she's 
roused?"  cried  some  one. 


Liza  of  Lambeth  179 

"Oh,  she's  got  some  pluck  in  'er,  she  'as!" 

"That's  a  knock-aht!"  they  shouted  as  Mrs. 
Blakeston  brought  her  fist  down  on  to  Liza's 
nose ;  the  girl  staggered  back,  and  blood  began 
to  flow.  Then,  losing  all  fear,  mad  with  rage, 
she  made  a  rush  on  her  enemy,  and  rained  down 
blows  all  over  her  nose  and  eyes  and  mouth. 
The  woman  recoiled  at  the  sudden  violence 
of  the  onslaught,  and  the  men  cried: 

"By  God,  the  little  'un's  gettin'  the  best  of 
it!" 

But  quickly  recovering  herself  the  woman 
closed  with  Liza,  and  dug  her  nails  into  her 
flesh.  Liza  caught  hold  of  her  hair  and  pulled 
with  all  her  might,  and  turning  her  teeth  on 
Mrs.  Blakeston  tried  to  bite  her.  And  thus 
for  a  minute  they  swayed  about,  scratching, 
tearing,  biting,  sweat  and  blood  pouring  down 
their  faces,  and  their  eyes  fixed  on  one  an- 
other, bloodshot  and  full  of  rage.  The  audience 
shouted  and  cheered  and  clapped  their  hands. 

"Wot  the 'ell's  up 'ere?" 

"I  sy,  look  there,"  said  some  of  the  women 
in  a  whisper.  "It's  the  'usbind!" 


180  Liza  of  Lambeth 

He  stood  on  tiptoe  and  looked  over  the 
crowd. 

"My  Gawd,"  he  said,  "it's  Liza!" 

Then  roughly  pushing  the  people  aside,  he 
made  his  way  through  the  Crowd  into  the 
centre,  and  thrusting  himself  between  the  two 
women,  tore  them  apart.  He  turned  furiously 
on  his  wife. 

"By  Gawd,  I'll  give  yer  somethin'  for  this!" 

And  for  a  moment  they  all  three  stood 
silently  looking  at  one  another. 

Another  man  had  been  attracted  by  the 
crowd,  and  he  too  pushed  his  way  through. 

"Come  'ome,  Liza,"  he  said. 

"Tom!" 

He  took  hold  of  her  arm,  and  led  her  through 
the  people,  who  gave  way  to  let  her  pass. 
They  walked  silently  through  the  street,  Tom 
very  grave,  Liza  weeping  bitterly. 

"Oh,  Tom,"  she  sobbed  after  a  while,  "I 
couldn't  'elp  it!"  Then,  when  her  tears  per- 
mitted, "I  did  love 'im  so!" 

When  they  got  to  the  door  she  plaintively 
said,  "Come  in,"  and  he  followed  her  to  her 


Liza  of  Lambeth  181 

room.  Here  she  sank  on  to  a  chair,  and  gave 
herself  up  to  her  tears. 

Tom  wetted  the  end  of  a  towel  and  began 
wiping  her  face,  grimy  with  blood  and  tears. 
She  let  him  do  it,  just  moaning  amid  her  sobs: 

"You  are  good  ter  me,  Tom." 

"Cheer  up,  old  gal,"  he  said,  kindly,  "it's  all 
over  now." 

After  a  while  the  excess  of  crying  brought 
its  cessation.  She  drank  some  water,  and  then 
taking  up  a  broken  hand-glass  she  looked  at 
herself,  saying: 

"I  am  a  sight!"  and  proceeded  to  wind  up 
her  hair.  "You  'ave  been  good  ter  me,  Tom," 
she  repeated,  her  voice  still  broken  with  sobs; 
and  as  he  sat  down  beside  her  she  took  his  hand. 

"Na;  I  ain't,"  he  answered;  "it's  only  wot 
anybody  'ud  'ave  done." 

"Yer  know,  Tom,"  she  said,  after  a  little 
silence,  "I'm  so  sorry  I  spoke  cross  like  when 
I  met  yer  in  the  street ;  you  ain't  spoke  ter  me 


since." 


"Oh,  thet's  all  over  now,  old  lidy,  we  needn't 
think  of  thet." 


1 82  Liza  of  Lambeth 

p™"™"™"1^ 

"Oh,  but  I  'ave  treated  yer  bad.  I'm  a 
regular  wrong  'un,  I  am." 

He  pressed  her  hand  without  speaking. 

"I  say,  Tom,"  she  began,  after  another 
pause.  "Did  yer  know  thet — well,  you  know — 
before  ter-day?" 

He  blushed  as  he  answered — 

"Yus." 

She  spoke  very  sadly  and  slowly. 

"I  thought  yer  did;  yer  seemed  so  cut  up 
like  when  I  used  to  meet  yer.  Yer  did  love  me 
then,  Tom,  didn't  yer?" 

"I  do  now,  dearie,"  he  answered. 

"Ah,  it's  too  lite  now,"  she  sighed. 

"D'yer  know,  Liza,"  he  said,  "I  just  abaht 
kicked  the  life  aht  of  a  feller  'cause  'e  said  you 
was  messin'  abaht  with — with  'im." 

"An'  yer  knew  I  was?" 

"Yus — but  I  wasn't  goin'  ter  'ave  any  one 
say  it  before  me." 

"They've  all  rounded  on  me  except  you, 
Tom.  I'd  'ave  done  better  if  I'd  tiken  you 
when  you  arst  me;  I  shouldn't  be  where  I  am 
now,  if  I  'ad." 


Liza  of  Lambeth  183 

"Well,  won't  yer  now?  Won't  yer  'ave  me 
now?" 

"Me  ?   After  wot's  'appened  ?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind  abaht  thet.  Thet  don't 
matter  ter  me  if  you'll  marry  me.  I  fair  can't 
live  without  yer,  Liza — won't  yer?" 

She  groaned. 

"Na,  I  can't,  Tom;  it  wouldn't  be  right." 

"Why  not,  if  I  don't  mind?" 

"Tom,"  she  said,  looking  down,  almost  whis- 
pering, "I'm  like  that — you  know!" 

"Wot  d'yer  mean?" 

She  could  scarcely  utter  the  words : 

"I  think  I'm  in  the  family  wy." 

He  paused  a  moment ;  then  spoke  again. 

"Well — I  don't  mind,  if  yer '11  only  marry 
me." 

"Na,  I  can't  Tom,"  she  said,  bursting  into 
tears;  "I  can't,  but  you  are  so  good  ter  me; 
I'd  do  anythin'  ter  mike  it  up  ter  you." 

She  put  her  arms  round  his  neck  and  slid  on 
to  his  knees. 

"Yer  know,  Tom,  I  couldn't  marry  yer  now; 
but  anythin'  else — if  yer  wants  me  ter  do  any- 
thin'  else,  I'll  do  it  if  it'll  mike  you  'appy." 


184  Liza  of  Lambeth 

He  did  not  understand,  but  only  said : 
"You're  a  good  gal,  Liza,"  and  bending 
down  he  kissed  her  gravely  on  the  forehead. 

Then  with  a  sigh  he  lifted  her  down,  and 
getting  up  left  her  alone.  For  a  while  she 
sat  where  he  left  her,  but  as  she  thought  of  all 
she  had  gone  through  her  loneliness  and  misery 
overcame  her,  the  tears  welled  forth,  and 
throwing  herself  on  the  bed  she  buried  her  face 
in  the  pillows 

Jim  stood  looking  at  Liza  as  she  went  off 
with  Tom,  and  his  wife  watched  him  jealously. 

"It's  'er  you're  thinkin'  abaht.  Of  course 
you'd  'ave  liked  ter  tike  'er  'ome  yerself,  I 
know,  an'  leave  me  to  shift  for  myself." 

"Shut  up!"  said  Jim,  angrily  turning  upon 
her. 

"I  sha'n't  shut  up,"  she  answered,  raising 
her  voice.  "Nice  'usbind  you  are.  Go'  lumme, 
as  good  as  they  mike  'em!  Nice  thing  ter  go 
an'  leave  yer  wife  and  children  for  a  thing 
like  thet!  At  your  age,  too!  You  oughter  be 
ashimed  of  yerself.  Why,  it's  like  messin' 
abaht  with  yer  own  daughter !" 


Liza  of  Lambeth  185 

"By  God!" — he  ground  his  teeth  with  rage 
— "if  yer  don't  leave  me  alone,  I'll  kick  the  life 
aht  of  yer!" 

"There!"  she  said,  turning  to  the  crowd — 
"there,  see  'ow  'e  treats  me!  Listen  ter  thet! 
I've  been  'is  wife  for  twenty  years,  an'  yer 
couldn't  'ave  'ad  a  better  wife,  an'  I've  bore 
'im  nine  children,  ter  say  nothin'  of  a  miscarri- 
age, an'  I've  got  another  one  comin',  an'  thet's 
'ow  'e  treats  me!  Nice  'usbind,  ain't  it?"  She 
looked  at  him  scornfully,  then  again  at  the  sur- 
rounders  as  if  for  their  opinion. 

"Well,  I  ain't  goin'  ter  stay  'ere  all  night; 
get  aht  of  the  light!"  He  pushed  aside  the 
people  who  barred  his  way,  and  the  one  or  two 
who  growled  a  little  at  his  roughness,  looking 
at  his  angry  face,  were  afraid  to  complain. 

"Look  at  'im!"  said  his  wife.  "  'E's  afraid, 
*e  is.  See  'im  skinkin'  awy  like  a  bloomin' 
mongrel  with  'is  tail  between  'is  legs.  Ugh!" 
She  walked  just  behind  him,  shouting  and 
brandishing  her  arms. 

"Yer  dirty  beast,  you,"  she  yelled;  "ter  go 
foolin'  abaht  with  a  little  girl!  Ugh!  I  wish 
yer  wasn't  my  'usbind;  I  wouldn't  be  seen 


1 86  Liza  of  Lambeth 

^^^^^^^^~~^m^~~^mi~~^~^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^~im*'^^^^^^^^^^^m*^^^^ 

drowned  with  yer,  if  I  could  'elp  it.  Yer  mike 
me  sick  ter  look  at  yer/' 

The  crowd  followed  them  on  both  sides  of 
the  road,  keeping  at  a  discreet  distance,  but 
still  eagerly  listening. 

Jim  turned  on  her  once  or  twice  and  said : 

"Shut  up!" 

But  it  only  made  her  more  angry.  "I  tell 
yer  I  sha'n't  shut  up.  I  don't  care  'oo  know  it, 

you're  a  ,  you  are!  I'm  ashimed  the 

children  should  'ave  such  a  father  as  you. 
D'yer  think  I  didn't  know  wot  you  was  up  ter 
them  nights  you  was  away — coiirtin',  yus 
courtin'  ?  You're  a  nice  man,  you  are !" 

Jim  did  not  answer  her,  but  walked  on.  At 
last  he  turned  round  to  the  people  who  were 
following,  and  said : 

"Na  then,  wot  d'you  want  'ere?  You  jolly 
well  clear,  or  I'll  give  some  of  you  somethin' !" 

They  were  mostly  boys  and  women,  and  at 
his  words  they  shrank  back. 

'  'E's  afraid  ter  sy  anythin'  ter  me,"  jeered 
Mrs.  Blakeston.  "  'E's  a  beauty!" 

Jim  entered  his  house,  and  she  followed  him 
till  they  came  up  into  their  room.  Polly  was 


Liza  of  Lambeth  187 

giving  the  children  their  tea.  They  all  started 
up  as  they  saw  their  mother  with  her  hair  and 
clothes  in  disorder,  blotches  of  dried  blood  on 
her  face,  and  the  long  scratch-marks. 

"Oh,  mother,"  said  Polly,  "wot  is  the 
matter?" 

'  'E's  the  matter,"  she  answered,  pointing  to 
her  husband.  "It's  through  'im  I've  got  all 
this.  Look  at  yer  father,  children ;  'e's  a  father 
ter  be  proud  of,  leavin'  yer  ter  starve  an' 
spendin'  'is  wee's  money  on  a  dirty  little 
strumpet." 

Jim  felt  easier  now  he  had  not  got  so  many 
strange  eyes  on  him. 

"Now,  look  'ere,"  he  said,  "I'm  not  goin'  ter 
stand  this  much  longer,  so  just  you  tike  care." 

"I  ain't  frightened  of  yer.  I  know  yer'd  like 
ter  kill  me,  but  yer'll  get  strung  up  if  you  do." 

"Na,  I  won't  kill  yer,  but  if  I  'ave  any  more 
of  your  sauce  I'll  do  the  next  thing  to  it." 

"Touch  me  if  yer  dare,"  she  said;  "I'll  'ave 
the  law  of  you.  An'  I  shouldn't  mind  'ow 
many  months  'ard  you  got." 

"Be  quiet!"  he  said,  and,  closing  his  hand, 


l88  Liza  of  Lambeth 

gave  her  a  heavy  blow  in  the  chest  that  made 
her  stagger. 

"Oh,  you !"  she  screamed. 

She  seized  the  poker,  and  in  a  fury  of  rage 
rushed  at  him. 

"Would  yer?"  he  said,  catching  hold  of  it 
and  wrenching  it  from  her  grasp.  He  threw  it 
to  the  end  of  the  room  and  grappled  with  her. 
For  a  moment  they  swayed  about  from  side  to 
side,  then  with  an  effort  he  lifted  her  off  her 
feet  and  threw  her  to  the  ground;  but  she 
caught  hold  of  him  and  he  came  down  on  the 
top  of  her.  She  screamed  as  her  head  thumped 
down  on  the  floor,  and  the  children,  who  were 
standing  huddled  up  in  a  corner,  terrified, 
screamed  too. 

Jim  caught  hold  of  his  wife's  head  and  began 
beating  it  against  the  floor. 

She  cried  out,  "You're  killing  me!  Help! 
help!" 

Polly  in  terror  ran  up  to  her  father,  and 
tried  to  pull  him  off. 

"Father,  don't  'it  'er!  Anythin'  but  thet— 
for  God's  sike." 


Liza  of  Lambeth  189 

"Leave  me  alone,"  he  said,  "or  I'll  give  you 
somethin'  too." 

She  caught  hold  of  his  arm,  but  Jim,  still 
kneeling  on  his  wife,  gave  Polly  a  back-handed 
blow  which  sent  her  staggering  back. 

"Tike  thet!" 

Polly  ran  out  of  the  room,  downstairs  to  the 
first-floor  front,  where  two  men  and  two 
women  were  sitting  at  tea. 

"Oh,  come  an'  stop  father !"  she  cried.  "  'E's 
killin' mother!" 

"Why,wot's'edoin'?" 

"Oh,  'e's  got  'er  on  the  floor,  an'  Vs  bangin' 
'er  'ead.  'E's  payin'  'er  aht  for  givin'  Liza 
Kemp  a  'idin'." 

One  of  the  women  started  up  and  said  to 
her  husband: 

"Come  on,  John,  you  go  an'  stop  it." 

"Don't  you,  John,"  said  the  other  man. 
"When  a  man's  givin'  'is  wife  socks  it's  best 
not  ter  interfere." 

"But  'e's  killin'  'er,"  repeated  Polly,  trem- 
bling with  fright. 

"Garn!"  rejoined  the  man;  "she'll  git  over 
it;  an'  p'raps  she  deserves  it,  for  all  you  know." 


190  Liza  of  Lambeth 

John  sat  undecided,  looking  now  at  Polly, 
now  at  his  wife,  and  now  at  the  other  man. 

"Oh,  do  be  quick — for  God's  sike!"  said 
Polly. 

At  that  moment  a  sound  as  of  something 
smashing  was  heard  upstairs,  and  a  woman's 
shriek.  Mrs.  Blakeston,  in  an  effort  to  tear 
herself  away  from  her  husband,  had  knocked 
up  against  the  wash-hand  stand,  and  the  whole 
thing  had  crashed  down. 

"Go  on,  John,"  said  the  wife. 

"Na,  I  ain't  goin' ;  I  sha'n't  do  no  good,  an' 
'e'll  only  round  on  me." 

"Well,  you  are  a  bloomin'  lot  of  cowards, 
thet's  all  I  can  say,"  indignantly  answered  the 
wife.  "But  I  ain't  goin'  ter  see  a  woman  mur- 
dered; I'll  go  an'  stop  'im." 

With  that  she  ran  upstairs  and  threw  open 
the  door.  Jim  was  still  kneeling  on  his  wife, 
hitting  her  furiously,  while  she  was  trying  to 
protect  her  head  and  face  with  her  hands. 

"Leave  off!"  shouted  the  woman. 

Jim  looked  up.  '  'Oo  the  devil  are  you?"  he 
said. 

"Leave  off,  I  tell  yer.    Aren't  yer  ashimed 


Liza  of  Lambeth  191 

of  yerself ,  knockin'  a  woman  abaht  like  that?" 
And  she  sprang  at  him,  seizing  his  fist. 

"Let  go,"  he  said,  "or  I'll  give  you  a  bit." 

"Yer'd  better  not  touch  me,"  she  said.  "Yer 
dirty  coward!  Why,  look  at  'er,  she's  almost 
senseless." 

Jim  stopped  and  gazed  at  his  wife.  He  got 
up  and  gave  her  a  kick. 

"Git  up !"  he  said ;  but  she  remained  huddled 
up  on  the  floor,  moaning  feebly.  The  woman 
from  downstairs  went  on  her  knees  and  took 
her  head  in  her  arms. 

"Never  mind,  Mrs.  Blakeston.  'E's  not 
goin'  ter  touch  yer.  'Ere,  drink  this  little  drop 
of  water."  Then  turning  to  Jim,  with  infinite 
disdain,  "Yer  dirty  blackguard,  you!  If  I 
was  a  man  I'd  give  you  something  for  this." 

Jim  put  on  his  hat  and  went  out,  slamming 
the  door,  while  the  woman  shouted  after  him, 
"Good  riddance!" 

"Lord  love  yer,"  said  Mrs.  Kemp,  "wot  is 
the  matter?" 

She  had  just  come  in,  and  opening  the  door 
had  started  back  in  surprise  at  seeing  Liza  on 


192  Liza  of  Lambeth 

the  bed,  all  tears.  Liza  made  no  answer,  but 
cried  as  if  her  heart  were  breaking.  Mrs. 
Kemp  went  up  to  her  and  tried  to  look  at 
her  face. 

"Don't  cry,  dearie ;  tell  us  wot  it  is." 

Liza  sat  up  and  dried  her  eyes. 

"I  am  so  un'appy." 

"Wot  'ave  yer  been  doin'  ter  yer  fice?   My !" 

"NothinV 

"Gam!  Yer  can't  'ave  got  a  fice  like  thet 
all  by  itself." 

"I  had  a  bit  of  a  scrimmage  with  a  woman 
dahn  the  street,"  sobbed  out  Liza. 

"She  'as  give  yer  a  doin' ;  an'  yer  all  upset — 
an'  look  at  yer  eye !  I  brought  in  a  little  bit  of 
stike  fer  ter-morrer's  dinner;  you  just  cut  a 
bit  off  an'  put  it  over  yer  optic,  that'll  soon  put 
it  right.  I  always  used  ter  do  thet  myself  when 
me  an'  your  poor  father  'ad  words." 

"Oh,  I'm  all  over  in  a  tremble ;  an'  my  'ead, 
oo,  my  'ead  does  feel  bad!" 

"I  know  wot  yer  want,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Kemp,  nodding  her  head,  "an'  it  so  'appens 
as  I've  got  the  very  thing  with  me."  She 
pulled  a  medicine  bottle  out  of  her  pocket,  and 


Liza  of  Lambeth  193 

taking  out  the  cork  smelt  it.  "Thet's  good 
stuff;  none  of  your  fire-water  or  your  methy- 
lated spirit.  I  don't  often  indulge  in  sich 
things,  but  when  I  do  I  likes  to  'ave  the  best." 

She  handed  the  bottle  to  Liza,  who  took  a 
mouthful  and  gave  it  her  back ;  she  had  a  drink 
herself,  and  smacked  her  lips. 

"Thet's  good  stuff.    'Ave  a  drop  more." 

"Na,"  said  Liza,  "I  ain't  used  ter  drinkin' 
spirits." 

She  felt  dull  and  miserable,  and  a  heavy  pain 
throbbed  through  her  head.  If  she  could  only 
forget ! 

"Na,  I  know  you're  not,  but,  bless  your 
soul,  thet  won'  'urt  yer.  It'll  do  you  no  end 
of  good.  Why,  often  when  I've  been  feelin' 
thet  done  up  thet  I  didn't  know  wot  ter  do  with 
myself,  I've  just  'ad  a  little  drop  of  whiskey 
or  gin — I'm  not  partic'ler  wot  spirit  it  is — an' 
it's  pulled  me  up  wonderful." 

Liza  took  another  sip,  a  slightly  longer  one; 
it  burnt  as  it  went  down  her  throat,  and  sent 
through  her  a  feeling  of  comfortable  warmth. 

"I  really  do  think  it's  doin'  me  good,"  she 


194  Liza  of  Lambeth 

said,  wiping  her  eyes  and  giving  a  sigh  of  relief 
as  the  crying  ceased. 

"I  knew  it  would.  Tike  my  word  for  it,  if 
people  took  a  little  drop  of  spirits  in  time, 
there'd  be  much  less  sickness  abaht." 

They  sat  for  a  while  in  silence,  then  Mrs. 
Kemp  remarked : 

"Yer  know,  Liza,  it  strikes  me  as  'ow  we 
could  do  with  a  drop  more.  You  not  bein'  in 
the  'abit  of  tikin'  anythin'  I  only  brought  just 
this  little  drop  for  me ;  an'  it  ain't  took  us  long 
ter  finish  thet  up.  But  as  you're  an  invalid 
like  we'll  git  a  little  more  this  time;  it's  sure 
ter  turn  aht  useful." 

"But  you  ain't  got  nothin'  ter  put  it  in." 

"Yus,  I  'ave,"  answered  Mrs.  Kemp; 
"there's  thet  bottle  as  they  gives  me  at  the 
'orspital.  Just  empty  the  medicine  aht  into 
the  pile,  an'  wash  it  aht,  an'  I'll  tike  it  round 
to  the  pub  myself." 

Liza,  when  she  was  left  alone,  began  to  turn 
things  over  in  her  mind.  She  did  not  feel  so 
utterably  unhappy  as  before,  for  the  things 
she  had  gone  through  seemed  further  away. 


Liza  of  LambetK  195 

"After  all,"  she  said,  "it  don't  so  much 
matter." 

Mrs.  Kemp  came  in. 

'  'Ave  a  little  drop  more,  Liza,"  she  said. 

"Well,  I  don't  mind  if  I  do.  I'll  get  some 
tumblers,  shall  I?  There's  no  mistike  abaht 
it,"  she  added,  when  she  had  taken  a  little,  "it 
do  buck  yer  up." 

"You're  right,  Liza — you're  right.  An'  you 
wanted  it  badly.  Fancy  you  'avin'  a  fight  with 
a  woman!  Oh,  I've  'ad  some  in  my  day,  but 
then  I  wasn't  a  little  bit  of  a  thing  like  you  is. 
I  wish  I'd  been  there,  I  wouldn't  'ave  stood  by 
an'  looked  on  while  my  daughter  was  gettin' 
the  worst  of  it ;  although  I'm  turned  sixty-five, 
an'  gettin'  on  for  sixty-six,  I'd  'ave  said  to  'er: 
'If  you  touch  my  daughter  you'll  'ave  me  ter 
deal  with,  so  just  look  aht!' ' 

She  brandished  her  glass,  and  that  remind- 
ing her,  she  refilled  it  and  Liza's. 

"Ah,  Liza,"  she  remarked,  "you're  a  chip  of 
the  old  block.  Ter  see  you  settin'  there  an' 
'avin'  your  little  drop,  it  mikes  me  feel  as  if  I 
was  livin'  a  better  life.  Yer  used  ter  be  rather 
'ard  on  me,  Liza,  'cause  I  took  a  little  drop 


196  Liza  of  Lambeth 

on  Saturday  nights.  An*  mind,  I  don't  sy  I 
didn't  tike  a  little  drop  too  much  sometimes — 
accidents  will  occur  even  in  the  best  regulated 
of  families;  but  wot  I  say  is  this — it's  good 
stuff,  I  say,  an'  it  don't  'urt  yer." 

"Buck  up,  old  gal!"  said  Liza,  filling  the 
glasses,  "no  'eel-taps.  I  feel  like  a  new  woman 
now.  I  was  thet  dahn  in  the  dumps — well,  I 
shouldn't  'ave  cared  if  I'd  been  at  the  bottom 
of  the  river,  an'  thet's  the  truth." 

"You  don't  sy  so,"  replied  her  affectionate 
mother. 

"Yus,  I  do,  an'  I  mean  it  too,  but  I  don't 
feel  like  thet  now.  You're  right,  mother,  when 
you're  in  trouble  there's  nothin'  like  a  bit  of 
spirits." 

"Well,  if  I  don't  know,  I  dunno  'oo  does, 
for  the  trouble  I've  'ad,  it  'ud  be  enough  to  kill 
many  women.  Well,  I've  'ad  thirteen  children, 
an'  you  can  think  wot  thet  was ;  every  one  I  'ad 
I  used  ter  sy  I  wouldn't  'ave  no  more — but  one 
does,  yer  know.  You'll  'ave  a  family  some  day, 
Liza,  an'  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  didn't  'ave 
as  many  as  me.  We  come  from  a  very  prodigal 
family,  we  do,  we've  all  gone  in  ter  double 


Liza  of  Lambeth  197 

•^^^^^^^^^  "~ ^~ -*™ *^^^^— ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^•"•••^— ^^ 

figures,  except  your  Aunt  Mary,  who  only  'ad 
three — but  then  she  wasn't  married,  so  it  didn't 
count,  like." 

They  drank  each  other's  health.  Everything 
was  getting  blurred  to  Liza;  she  was  losing  her 
head. 

"Yus,"  went  on  Mrs.  Kemp,  "I've  'ad  thir- 
teen children  an'  I'm  proud  of  it.  As  your 
poor  dear  father  used  ter  sy,  it  shows  as  'ow 
one's  got  the  blood  of  a  Briton  in  one.  Your 
poor  dear  father,  'e  was  a  great  'and  at  speak- 
in',  'e  was :  'e  used  ter  speak  at  parliamentary 
meetin's — I  really  believe  'e'd  'ave  been  a 
Member  of  Parliament  if  'e'd  been  alive  now. 
Well,  as  I  was  sayin',  your  father  'e  used  ter 
sy,  'None  of  your  small  families  for  me,  I  don't 
approve  of  them,'  says  'e.  'E  was  a  man  of 
very  'igh  principles,  an'  by  politics  'e  was  a 
Radical.  'No,'  says  'e,  when  'e  got  talkin', 
'when  a  man  can  'ave  a  family  risin'  into  double 
figures,  it  shows  'e's  got  the  backbone  of  a 
Briton  in  'im.  That's  the  stuff  as  'as  built  up 
England's  nime  an'  glory!  When  one  thinks 
of  the  mighty  British  Hempire,'  says  'e,  'on 
which  the  sun  never  sets  from  mornin'  till 


198  Liza  of  Lambeth 

night,  one  'as  ter  be  proud  of  'isself,  an'  one 
'as  ter  do  one's  duty  in  thet  walk  of  life  in 
which  it  'as  pleased  Providence  ter  set  one — 
an'  every  man's  fust  duty  is  ter  get  as  many 
children  as  'e  bloomin'  well  can.'  Lord  love 
yer — 'e  could  talk,  I  can  tell  yer." 

"Drink  up,  mother,"  said  Liza.  "You're 
not  'alf  drinkin'."  She  flourished  the  bottle. 
"I  don't  care  a  twopenny  'ang  for  all  them 
blokes;  I'm  quite  'appy,  an'  I  don't  want  any- 
thin'  else." 

"I  can  see  you're  my  daughter  now,"  said 
Mrs.  Kemp.  "When  yer  used  ter  round  on 
me  I  used  ter  think  as  'ow  if  I  'adn't  carried 
yer  for  nine  months,  it  must  'ave  been  some 
mistike,  an'  yer  wasn't  my  daughter  at  all. 
When  you  come  ter  think  of  it,  a  man  'e  don't 
know  if  it's  'is  child  or  somebody  else's,  but  yer 
can't  deceive  a  woman  like  thet.  Yer  couldn't 
palm  off  somebody  else's  kid  on  'er." 

"I  am  beginnin'  ter  feel  quite  lively,"  said 
Liza.  "I  dunno  wot  it  is,  but  I  feel  as  if  I 
wanted  to  laugh  till  I  fairly  split  my  sides." 

And  she  began  to  sing,  "For  'e's  a  jolly  good 
feller— for  'e's  a  jolly  good  feller!" 


Liza  of  Lambeth  199 

Her  dress  was  all  disarranged ;  her  face  cov- 
ered with  the  scars  of  scratches,  and  clots  of 
blood  had  fixed  under  her  nose;  her  eye  had 
swollen  up  so  that  it  was  nearly  closed,  and 
red;  her  hair  was  hanging  over  her  face  and 
shoulders,  and  she  laughed  stupidly  and  leered 
with  heavy,  sodden  ugliness. 

"Disy,  Disy!     I  can't  afford  a  kerrige, 
But  you'll  look  neat,  on  the  seat 
Of  a  bicycle  mide  for  two." 

She  shouted  out  the  tunes,  beating  time  on 
the  table,  and  her  mother,  grinning,  with  her 
thin,  grey  hair  hanging  dishevelled  over  her 
head,  joined  in  with  her  weak,  cracked  voice: 

"Oh,  dem  golden  kippers,  oh!" 

Then  Liza  grew  more  melancholy  and  broke 
into  "Auld  Lang  Syne." 

"Should  old  acquaintance  be  forgot 
And  never  brought  to  mind? 

For  old  lang  syne." 

Finally  they  both  grew  silent,  and  in  a  little 
while  there  came  a  snore  from  Mrs.  Kemp; 


200  Liza  of  Lambeth 

her  head  fell  forward  to  her  chest;  Liza  tum- 
bled from  her  chair  on  to  the  bed,  and  sprawl- 
ing across  it  fell  asleep. 

"Although  I  am  drunk  and  bad,  be  you  kind, 
Cast  a  glance  at  this  heart  which  is  bewildered  and 

distressed. 
0  God,  take  away  from  my  mind  my  cry  and  my 

complaint. 

Offer  wine,  and  take  sorrow  from  my  remembrance. 
Offer  wine!" 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 

ABOUT  the  middle  of  the  night  Liza  woke ; 
her  mouth  was  hot  and  dry,  and  a  sharp, 
cutting  pain  passed  through  her  head  as  she 
moved.  Her  mother  had  evidently  roused 
herself,  for  she  was  lying  in  bed  by  her  side, 
partially  undressed,  with  all  the  bedclothes 
rolled  round  her.  Liza  shivered  in  the  cold 
night,  and  taking  off  some  of  her  things — her 
boots,  her  skirt,  and  jacket — got  right  into 
bed;  she  tried  to  get  some  of  the  blanket  from 
her  mother,  but  as  she  pulled  Mrs.  Kemp  gave 
a  growl  in  her  sleep  and  drew  the  clothes  more 
tightly  round  her.  So  Liza  put  over  herself 
her  skirt  and  a  shawl,  which  was  lying  over 
the  end  of  the  bed,  and  tried  to  go  to  sleep. 
But  she  could  not;  her  head  and  hands  were 
broiling  hot,  and  she  was  terribly  thirsty;  when 
she  lifted  herself  up  to  get  a  drink  of  water 
such  a  pang  went  through  her  head  that  she 

fell  back  on  the  bed  groaning,  and  lay  there 

201 


2O2  Liza  of  Lambeth 

with  beating  heart.  And  strange  pains  that 
she  did  not  know,  went  through  her.  Then  a 
cold  shiver  seemed  to  rise  in  the  very  marrow 
of  her  bones  and  run  down  every  artery  and 
vein,  freezing  the  blood ;  her  skin  puckered  up, 
and  drawing  up  her  legs  she  lay  huddled  to- 
gether in  a  heap,  the  shawl  wrapped  tightly 
round  her,  and  her  teeth  chattering.  Shiver- 
ing, she  whispered : 

"Oh,  I'm  so  cold,  so  cold.  Mother,  give  me 
some  clothes;  I  shall  die  of  the  cold.  "Oh,  I'm 
freezing!" 

But  after  a  while  the  cold  seemed  to  give 
way,  and  a  sudden  heat  seized  her,  flushing  her 
face,  making  her  break  out  into  perspiration, 
so  that  she  threw  everything  off  and  loosened 
the  things  about  her  neck. 

"Give  us  a  drink,"  she  said.  "Oh,  I'd  give 
anythin'  for  a  little  drop  of  water!" 

There  was  no  one  to  hear;  Mrs.  Kemp  con- 
tinued to  sleep  heavily,  occasionally  breaking 
out  into  a  little  snore. 

Liza  remained  there,  now  shivering  with 
cold,  now  panting  for  breath,  listening  to  the 
regular,  heavy  breathing  by  her  side,  and  in 


Liza  of  Lambeth  203 

her  pain  she  sobbed.  She  pulled  at  her  pillow 
and  said: 

"Why  can't  I  go  to  sleep?  Why  can't  I 
sleep  like  'er?" 

And  the  darkness  was  awful ;  it  was  a  heavy, 
ghastly  blackness,  that  seemed  palpable,  so 
that  it  frightened  her,  and  she  looked  for  relief 
at  the  faint  light  glimmering  through  the  win- 
dow from  a  distant  street-lamp.  She  thought 
the  night  would  never  end — the  minutes 
seemed  like  hours,  and  she  wondered  how  she 
should  live  through  till  morning.  And  strange 
pains  that  she  did  not  know,  went  through  her. 

Still  the  night  went  on,  the  darkness  con- 
tinued, cold  and  horrible,  and  her  mother 
breathed  loudly  and  steadily  by  her  side. 

At  last  with  the  morning  sleep  came;  but 
the  sleep  was  almost  worse  than  the  wakeful- 
ness,  for  it  was  accompanied  by  ugly,  disturb- 
ing dreams.  Liza  thought  she  was  going 
through  the  fight  with  her  enemy,  and  Mrs. 
Blakeston  grew  enormous  in  size,  and  multi- 
plied, so  that  every  way  she  turned  the  figure 
confronted  her.  And  she  began  running  away, 
and  she  ran  and  ran  till  she  found  herself 


204  Liza  of  Lambeth 

reckoning  up  an  account  she  had  puzzled  over 
in  the  morning,  and  she  did  it  backwards  and 
forwards,  upwards  and  downwards,  starting 
here,  starting  there,  and  the  figures  got  mixed 
up  with  other  things,  and  she  had  to  begin  over 
again,  and  everything  jumbled  up,  and  her 
head  whirled,  till  finally,  with  a  start,  she  woke. 

The  darkness  had  given  way  to  a  cold,  grey 
dawn,  her  uncovered  legs  were  chilled  to  the 
bone,  and  by  her  side  she  heard  again  the  reg- 
ular, nasal  breathing  of  the  drunkard. 

For  a  long  while  she  lay  where  she  was,  feel- 
ing very  sick  and  ill,  but  better  than  in  the 
night.  At  last  her  mother  woke. 

"Liza!"  she  called. 

"Yus,  mother,"  she  answered,  feebly. 

"Git  us  a  cup  of  tea,  will  yer?" 

"I  can't,  mother,  I'm  ill." 

"Garn!"  said  Mrs.  Kemp,  in  surprise.  Then 
looking  at  her,  "Swop  me  bob,  wot's  up  with 
yer?  Why,  yer  cheeks  is  flushed,  an'  yer  fore- 
head— it  is  'ot!  Wot's  the  matter  with  yer, 
gal?" 

"I  dunno,"  said  Liza.  "I've  been  thet  bad 
all  night,  I  thought  I  was  goin'  ter  die." 


Liza  of  Lambeth  205 

"I  know  wot  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Kemp,  shak- 
ing her  head;  "the  fact  is,  you  ain't  used  ter 
drinkin',  an'  of  course  it's  upset  yer.  Now  me, 
why  I'm  as  fresh  as  a  disy.  Tike  my  word, 
there  ain't  no  good  in  teetotalism;  it  finds  yer 
aht  in  the  end,  an'  it's  found  you  aht." 

Mrs.  Kemp  considered  it  a  judgment  of 
Providence.  She  got  up  and  mixed  some 
whiskey  and  water. 

"  'Ere,  drink  this,"  she  said.  "When  one's 
'ad  a  drop  too  much  at  night,  there's  nothin' 
like  havin'  a  drop  more  in  the  mornin'  ter  put 
one  right.  It  just  acts  like  magic." 

"Tike  it  awy,"  said  Liza,  turning  from  it  in 
disgust ;  "the  smell  of  it  gives  me  the  sick.  I'll 
never  touch  spirits  again." 

"Ah,  thet's  wot  we  all  says  sometime  in  our 
lives,  but  we  does,  an'  wot's  more  we  can't  do 
withaht  it.  Why,  me,  the  'ard  life  I've 

'ad "  It  is  unnecessary  to  repeat  Mrs. 

Kemp's  repetitions. 

Liza  did  not  get  up  all  day.  Tom  came  to 
inquire  after  her,  and  was  told  she  was  very  ill. 
Liza  plaintively  asked  whether  any  one  else 
had  been,  and  sighed  a  little  when  her  mother 


206  Liza  of  Lambeth 

answered  no.  But  she  felt  too  ill  to  think 
much  or  trouble  much  about  anything.  The 
fever  came  again  as  the  day  wore  on,  and  the 
pains  in  her  head  grew  worse.  Her  mother 
came  to  bed,  and  quickly  went  off  to  sleep, 
leaving  Liza  to  bear  her  agony  alone.  She 
began  to  have  frightful  pains  all  over  her,  and 
she  held  her  breath  to  prevent  herself  from 
crying  out  and  waking  her  mother.  She 
clutched  the  sheets  in  her  agony,  and  at  last, 
about  six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  she  could  bear 
it  no  longer,  and  in  the  anguish  of  labour 
screamed  out,  and  woke  her  mother. 

Mrs.  Kemp  was  frightened  out  of  her  wits. 
Going  upstairs  she  woke  the  woman  who  lived 
on  the  floor  above  her.  Without  hesitating, 
the  good  lady  put  on  a  skirt  and  came  down. 
"She's  had  a  miss,"  she  said,  after  looking 
at  Liza.  "Is  there  any  one  you  could  send  to 
the  'orspital?" 

"Na,  I  dunno  'oo  I  could  get  at  this  hour?" 
"Well,  I'll  git  my  old  man  ter  go." 
She  called  her  husband,  and  sent  him  off. 
She  was  a  stout,  middle-aged  woman,  rough- 


Liza  of  Lambeth  207 

visaged  and  strong-armed.  Her  name  was 
Mrs.  Hodges. 

"It's  lucky  you  came  ter  me,"  she  said,  when 
she  had  settled  down.  "I  go  aht  nursin',  yjsr 
know,  so  I  know  all  abaht  it." 

"Well,  you  surprise  me,"  said  Mrs.  Kemp. 
"I  didn't  know  as  Liza  was  that  way.  She 
never  told  me  nothin'  abaht  it." 

"D'yer  know  'oo  it  is  'as  done  it?" 

"Now  you  ask  me  somethin'  I  don't  know," 
replied  Mrs.  Kemp.  "But  now  I  come  ter 
thing  of  it,  it  must  be  thet  there  Tom.  'E's 
been  keepin'  company  with  Liza.  'E's  a 
single  man,  so  they'll  be  able  ter  get  married — 
that's  somethin'." 

"It  ain't  Tom,"  feebly  said  Liza. 

"Not'im;'ooisit,  then?" 

Liza  did  not  answer. 

"Eh?"  repeated  the  mother;  "  'oo  is  it?" 

Liza  lay  still  without  speaking. 

"Never  mind,  Mrs.  Kemp,"  said  Mrs, 
Hodges,  "don't  worry  'er  now;  you'll  be  able 
ter  find  aht  all  abaht  it  when  she  gits  better." 

For  a  while  the  two  women  sat  still,  waiting 
the  doctor's  coming,  and  Liza  lay  gazing  va- 


208  Liza  of  Lambeth 

cantly  at  the  wall,  panting  for  breath.    Some- 
times Jim  crossed  her  mind,  and  she  opened  her 
mouth  to  call  for  him  but  in  her  despair  she 
restrained  herself. 
The  doctor  came. 

"D'you  think  she's  bad,  doctor?"  asked  Mrs. 
Hodges. 

"I'm  afraid  she  is  rather,"  he  answered. 
"I'll  come  in  again  this  evening." 

"Oh,  doctor,"  said  Mrs.  Kemp,  as  he  was 
going,  "could  yer  give  me  somethin'  for  my 
rheumatics?  I'm  a  martyr  to  rheumatism,  an' 
these  cold  days  I  'ardly  knows  wot  ter  do  with 
myself.  An'  doctor,  could  you  let  me  'ave 
some  beef -tea?  My  'usbind's  dead,  an'  of 
course  I  can't  do  no  work  with  my  daughter  ill 
like  this,  an'  we're  very  short " 

The  day  passed,  and  in  the  evening  Mrs. 
Hodges,  who  had  been  attending  to  her  own 
domestic  duties,  came  downstairs  again.  Mrs. 
Kemp  was  on  the  bed,  sleeping. 

"I  was  just  'avin'  a  little  nap,"  she  said  to 
Mrs.  Hodges,  on  waking. 

"  'Ow  is  the  girl?"  asked  that  lady. 

"Oh,"  answered  Mrs.  Kemp,  '"my  rheu- 
matics 'as  been  thet  bad  I  really  'aven't  known 


Liza  of  Lambeth  209 

wot  ter  do  with  myself ;  an'  now  Liza  can't  rub 
me  I'm  worse  than  ever.  It  is  unfortunate 
thet  she  should  get  ill  just  now  when  I  want 
so  much  attendin'  ter  myself;  but  there,  it's 
just  my  luck!" 

Mrs.  Hodges  went  over  and  looked  at  Liza ; 
she  was  lying  just  as  when  she  left  her  in  the 
morning,  her  cheeks  flushed,  her  mouth  open 
for  breath,  and  tiny  beads  of  sweat  stood  on 
her  forehead. 

"  'Ow  are  yer,  ducky?"  asked  Mrs.  Hodges; 
but  Liza  did  not  answer. 

"It's  my  belief  she's  unconscious,"  said  Mrs. 
Kemp.  "I've  been  askin'  'er  'oo  it  was  as  done 
it,  but  she  don't  seem  to  'ear  wot  I  say.  It's 
been  a  great  shock  ter  me,  Mrs.  'Odges." 

"I  believe  you,"  replied  that  lady,  sympa- 
thetically. 

"Well,  when  you  come  in  and  said  wot  it 
was,  yer  might  'ave  knocked  me  dahn  with  a 
feather.  I  knew  no  more  than  the  dead  wot 
'ad  'appened." 

"I  saw  at  once  wot  it  was,"  said  Mrs. 
Hodges,  nodding  her  head. 

"Yus,  of  course  you  knew;     I  expect  you've 


2IO  Liza  of  Lambeth 

'ad  a  great  deal  of  practice  one  way  an'  an- 
other." 

"You're  right,  Mrs.  Kemp,  you're  right. 
I've  been  on  the  job  now  for  nearly  twenty 
years,  an'  if  I  don't  know  somethin'  abaht  it 
I  ought." 

"D'yer  find  it  pays  well?" 

"Well,  Mrs.  Kemp,  tike  it  all  in  all,  I  ain't 
got  no  grounds  for  complaint.  I'm  in  the  'abit 
of  askin'  five  shillings,  an'  I  will  say  this,  I 
don't  think  it's  too  much  for  wot  I  do." 

The  news  of  Liza's  illness  had  quickly 
spread,  and  more  than  once  in  the  course  of  the 
day  a  neighbour  had  come  to  ask  after  her. 
There  was  a  knock  at  the  door  now,  and  Mrs. 
Hodges  opened  it.  Tom  stood  on  the 
threshold  asking  to  come  in. 

"Yus,  you  can  come,"  said  Mrs.  Kemp. 

He  advanced  on  tiptoe,  so  as  to  make  no 
noise,  and  for  a  while  stood  silently  looking  at 
Liza.  Mrs.  Hodges  was  by  his  side. 

"Can  I  speak  to  'er?"  he  whispered. 

"She  can't  'ear  you." 

He  groaned. 

"D'yer  think  she'll  git  arright?"  he  asked. 


Liza  of  Lambeth  211 

Mrs.  Hodges  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"I  shouldn't  like  ter  give  an  opinion,"  she 
said,  cautiously. 

Tom  bent  over  Liza,  and,  blushing,  kissed 
her;  then,  without  speaking  further,  went  out 
of  the  room. 

"Thet's  the  young  man  as  was  courtin'  'er," 
said  Mrs.  Kemp,  pointing  over  her  shoulder 
with  her  thumb. 

Soon  after  the  doctor  came. 

"Wot  do  yer  think  of  'er,  doctor?"  said  Mrs. 
Hodges,  bustling  forwards  authoritatively  in 
her  position  of  midwife  and  sick-nurse. 

"I'm  afraid  she's  very  bad." 

"D'yer  think  she's  goin'  ter  die?"  she  asked, 
dropping  her  voice  to  a  whisper. 

"I'm  afraid  so!" 

As  the  doctor  sat  down  by  Liza's  side  Mrs. 
Hodges  turned  round  and  significantly  nodded 
to  Mrs.  Kemp,  who  put  her  handkerchief  to 
her  eyes.  Then  she  went  outside  to  the  little 
group  waiting  at  the  door. 

"Wot  does  the  doctor  sy?"  they  asked, 
among  them  Tom. 


212  Liza  of  Lambeth 

"  'E  says  just  what  I've  been  sayin'  all 
along;  I  knew  she  wouldn't  live." 

And  Tom  burst  out,  "Oh,  Liza!" 

As  she  retired  a  woman  remarked: 

"Mrs.  'Odges  is  very  clever,  I  think." 

"Yus,"  remarked  another,  "she  got  me 
through  my  last  confinement  simply  wonder- 
ful. If  it  come  to  choosin'  between  'em  I'd 
back  Mrs.  'Odges  against  forty  doctors." 

"Ter  tell  yer  the  truth,  so  would  I.  I've 
never  known  'er  wrong  yet." 

Mrs.  Hodges  sat  down  beside  Mrs.  Kemp 
and  proceeded  to  comfort  her. 

"Why  don't  yer  tike  a  little  drop  of  brandy 
ter  calm  yer  nerves,  Mrs.  Kemp?"  she  said; 
"you  want  it." 

"I  was  just  feelin'  rather  faint,  an'  I 
couldn't  'elp  thinkin'  as  'ow  twopenneth  of 
whiskey  'ud  do  me  good." 

"Na,  Mrs.  Kemp,"  said  Mrs.  Hodges, 
earnestly,  putting  her  hand  on  the  other's 
arm.  "You  tike  my  tip — when  you're  queer 
there's  nothin'  like  brandy  for  pullin'  yer  to- 
gither.  I  don't  object  to  whiskey  myself,  but 
as  a  medicine  yer  can't  beat  brandy." 


Liza  of  Lambeth  213 

"Well,  I  won't  set  up  myself  as  knowin'  bet- 
ter than  you,  Mrs.  'Odges;  I'll  do  wot  you 
think  right." 

Quite  accidentally  there  was  some  in  the 
room,  and  Mrs.  Kemp  poured  it  out  for  her- 
self and  her  friend. 

"I'm  not  in  the  'abit  of  tikin'  anythin'  when 
I'm  aht  on  business,"  she  apologised,  "but  just 
ter  keep  you  company  I  don't  mind  if  I  do." 

"Your  'ealth,  Mrs.  'Odges," 

"Sime  ter  you,  an'  thank  yer,  Mrs.  Kemp." 

Liza  lay  still,  breathing  very  quietly,  her 
eyes  closed.  The  doctor  kept  his  fingers  on 
her  pulse. 

"I've  been  very  unfortunate  of  lite,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Hodges,  as  she  licked  her  lips; 
"this  mikes  the  second  death  I've  'ad  in  the  last 
ten  days — women,  I  mean;  of  course  I  don't 
count  bibies." 

"Yer  don't  sy  so." 

"Of  course  the  other  one — well,  she  was 
only  a  prostitute,  so  it  didn't  so  much  matter. 
It  ain't  like  another  woman,  is  it?" 

"Na,  you're  right." 


214  Liza  of  Lambeth 

"Still,  one  don't  like  'em  ter  die,  even  if  they 
are  thet.  One  mustn't  be  too  'ard  on  'em." 

"Strikes  me  you've  got  a  very  kind  'eart, 
Mrs.  'Odges,"  said  Mrs.  Kemp. 

"I  'ave  thet;  an'  I  often  says  it  'ud  be  better 
for  my  peace  of  mind  an'  my  business  if  I 
'adn't.  I  'ave  ter  go  through  a  lot,  I  do;  but 
I  can  say  this  for  myself,  I  always  gives  satis- 
faction, an'  thet's  somethin'  as  all  lidies  in  my 
line  can't  say." 

They  sipped  their  brandy  for  a  while. 

"It's  a  great  trial  ter  me  that  this  should 
'ave  'appened,"  said  Mrs.  Kemp,  coming  to 
the  subject  that  had  been  disturbing  her  for 
some  time.  "Mine's  always  been  a  very  re- 
spectable family,  an'  such  a  thing  as  this  'as 
never  'appened  before.  No,  Mrs.  'Odges,  I 
was  lawfully  married  in  church,  an'  I've  got 
my  marriage  lines  now  ter  show  I  was,  an' 
thet  one  of  my  daughters  should  'ave  gone 
wrong  in  this  way — well,  I  can't  understand 
it.  I  give  'er  a  good  education,  an'  she  'ad  all 
the  comforts  of  a  'ome.  She  never  wanted  for 
nothin' ;  I  worked  myself  to  the  bone  ter  keep 


Liza  of  Lambeth  215 

'er  in  luxury,  an'  then  thet  she  should  go  an' 
disgrace  me  like  this!" 

"I  understand  wot  yer  mean,  Mrs.  Kemp." 

"I  can  tell  you  my  family  was  very  respect- 
able; an'  my  'usbind,  'e  earned  twenty-five 
shillings  a  week,  an'  was  in  the  sime  plice  seven- 
teen years;  an'  'is  employers  sent  a  beautiful 
wreath  ter  put  on  'is  coffin;  an'  they  tell  me 
they  never  'ad  such  a  good  workman  an'  sich 
an'  'onest  man  before.  An'  me!  Well,  I  can 
sy  this — I've  done  by  duty  by  the  girl,  an' 
she's  never  learnt  anythin'  but  good  from  me. 
Of  course  I  ain't  always  been  in  wot  yer  might 
call  flourishin'  circumstances,  but  I've  always 
set  her  a  good  example,  as  she  could  tell  yer  so 
'erself  if  she  wasn't  speechless." 

Mrs.  Kemp  paused  for  a  moment's  reflec- 
tion. 

"As  they  sy  in  the  Bible,"  she  finished,  "it's 
enough  ter  mike  one's  grey  'airs  go  dahn  into 
the  ground  in  sorrer.  I  can  show  yer  my  mar- 
riage certificate.  Of  course  one  doesn't  like  ter 
say  much,  because  of  course  she's  very  bad ;  but 
it  she  got  well  I  should  'ave  given  'er  a  talkin' 
ter." 


216  Liza  of  Lambeth 

f^*^^^^*"""""*^^^^^^^^^^^^^^"^^^^^" '""""^^^^"^"^^^^^^^^••'•••^ 

There  was  another  knock. 

"Do  go  an'  see  'oo  thet  is;  I  can't,  on  ac- 
count of  my  rheumatics." 

Mrs.  Hodges  opened  the  door.    It  was  Jim. 

He  was  very  white,  and  the  blackness  of  his 
hair  and  beard,  contrasting  with  the  deathly 
pallor  of  his  face,  made  him  look  ghastly.  Mrs. 
Hodges  stepped  back. 

"  'Go's  *e?"  she  said,  turning  to  Mrs.  Kemp. 

Jim  pushed  her  aside  and  went  up  to  the 
bed. 

"Doctor,  is  she  very  bad?"  he  asked. 

The  doctor  looked  at  him  questioningly. 

Jim  whispered:  "It  was  me  as  done  it. 
She  ain't  goin'  ter  die,  is  she?" 

The  doctor  nodded. 

"O  God!  wot  shall  I  do?  It  was  my  fault! 
I  wish  I  was  dead!" 

Jim  took  the  girl's  head  in  his  hands,  and 
the  tears  burst  from  his  eyes. 

"She  ain't  dead  yet,  is  she?" 

"She's  just  living,"  said  the  doctor. 

Jim  bent  down. 

"Liza,  Liza,  speak  ter  me!  Liza,  say  you 
forgive  me !  Oh,  speak  ter  me !" 


Liza  of  Lambeth  217 

His  voice  was  full  of  agony.  The  doctor 
spoke. 

"She  can't  hear  you." 

"Oh,  she  must  hear  me!    Liza!  Liza!" 

He  sank  on  his  knees  by  the  bedside. 

They  all  remained  silent :  Liza  lying  stiller 
than  ever,  her  breast  unmoved  by  the  feeble 
respiration,  Jim  looking  at  her  very  mourn- 
fully ;  the  doctor  grave,  with  his  fingers  on  the 
pulse.  The  two  women  looked  at  Jim. 

"Fancy  it  bein'  'im!"  said  Mrs.  Kemp. 
"Strike  me  lucky,  ain't  'e  a  sight!" 

"You  'ave  got  'er  insured,  Mrs.  Kemp?" 
asked  the  midwife.  She  could  bear  the  silence 
no  longer. 

"Trust  me  fur  thet!"  replied  the  good  lady. 
"I've  'ad  'er  insured  ever  since  she  was  born. 
Why,  only  the  other  dy  I  was  sayin'  te  myself 
thet  all  thet  money  'ad  been  wisted,  but  you  see 
it  wasn't ;  yer  never  know  yer  luck,  you  see !" 

"Quite  right,  Mrs.  Kemp;  I'm  a  rare  one 
for  insurin'.  It's  a  great  thing.  I've  always 
insured  all  my  children." 

"The  way  I  look  on  it  is  this,"  said  Mrs. 
Kemp — "wotever  yer  do  when  they're  alive, 


2i8  Liza  of  Lambeth 

^  ™^^"  "™  •*™^^^"^^^B^^"^"^™^ 

an'  we  all  know  as  children  is  very  tryin'  some- 
times, you  should  give  them  a  good  funeral 
when  they  dies.  Thet's  my  motto,  an'  I've  al- 
ways acted  up  to  it." 

"Do  yer  deal  with  Mr.  Stearman?"  asked 
Mrs.  Hodges. 

"No,  Mrs.  'Odges,  for  undertikin'  give  me 
Mr.  Footley  every  time.  In  the  black  line  Vs 
fust  an'  the  rest  nowhere!" 

"Well,  thet's  very  strange  now  —  thet's  just 
wot  I  think.  Mr.  Footley  does  'is  work  well, 
an'  'e's  very  reasonable.  I'm  a  very  old  cus- 
tomer of  'is,  an'  'e  lets  me  'ave  things  as  cheap 
as  anybody." 

"Does  'e  indeed!  Well,  Mrs.  'Odges,  if  it 
ain't  askin'  too  much  of  yer,  I  should  look  upon 
it  as  very  kind  if  you'd  go  an'  mike  the  arrange- 
ments for  Liza." 

"Why,  certainly,  Mrs.  Kemp.  I'm  always 
willin'  ter  do  a  good  turn  to  anybody,  if  I 


"I  want  it  done  very  respectable,"  said  Mrs. 
Kemp;  "I'm  not  goin'  ter  stint  for  nothin'  for 
my  daughter's  funeral.  I  like  plumes,  you 
know,  although  they  is  a  bit  extra." 


Liza  of  Lambeth  219 

"Never  you  fear,  Mrs.  Kemp,  it  shall  be 
done  as  well  as  if  it  was  for  my  own  'usbind,  an* 
I  can't  say  more  than  thet.  Mr.  Footley 
thinks  a  deal  of  me,  'e  does!  Why,  only 
the  other  dy  as  I  was  goin'  inter  'is  shop,  'e 
says,  'Good  mornin',  Mrs.  'Odges.'  'Good 
mornin',  Mr.  Footley,'  says  I.  'You've  jest 
come  in  the  nick  of  time,'  says  'e.  'This  gentle- 
man an'  myself,'  pointing  to  another  gentle- 
man as  was  standin'  there,  'we  was  'avin'  a  bit 
of  an  argument.  Now  you're  a  very  intelli- 
gent woman,  Mrs.  'Odges,  and  a  good  cus- 
tomer, too.'  'I  can  say  thet  for  myself,'  says 
I,  'I  gives  yer  all  the  work  I  can.'  'I  believe 
you,'  says  'e.  'Well,'  'e  says,  'now  which  do 
you  think?  Does  hoak  look  better  than  helm, 
or  does  helm  look  better  than  hoak?  Hoak 
versus  helm,  thet's  the  question.'  'Well,  Mr- 
Footley,'  says  I,  'for  my  own  private  opinion, 
when  you've  got  a  nice  brass  plite  in  the  mid- 
dle, an'  nice  brass  'andles  each  end,  there's 
nothin'  like  hoak.'  'Quite  right,'  says  'e,  'thet's 
wot  I  think;  for  coffins  give  me  hoak  any  day, 
an'  I  'ope,'  says  'e,  'when  the  Lord  sees  fit  ter 


22O  Liza  of  Lambeth 

call  me  to  'imself,  I  shall  be  put  in  a  hoak  cof- 
fin myself.'  'Amen/  says  I." 

"I  like  hoak,"  said  Mrs.  Kemp.  "My  poor 
'usbind  'e  'ad  a  hoak  coffin.  We  did  'ave  a  job 
with  'im,  I  can  tell  yer.  You  know  'e  'ad 
dropsy,  an'  'e  swell  up — oh,  'e  did  swell;  'is 
own  mother  wouldn't  'ave  known  'im.  Why, 
'is  leg  swell  up  till  it  was  as  big  round  as  'is 
body,  swop  me  bob,  it  did." 

"Did  it  indeed!"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Hodges. 

"Yus,  an'  when  'e  died  they  sent  the  coffin 
up.  I  didn't  'ave  Mr.  Footley  at  thet  time ;  we 
didn't  live  'ere  then,  we  lived  in  Batter  sea,  an' 
all  our  undertikin'  was  done  by  Mr.  Brownin' ; 
well,  'e  sent  the  coffin  up,  an'  we  got  my  old 
man  in,  but  we  couldn't  get  the  lid  down,  he 
was  so  swell  up.  Well,  Mr.  Brownin',  'e  was  a 
great  big  man,  thirteen  stone  if  'e  was  a  ounce. 
Well,  'e  stood  on  the  coffin,  an'  a  young  man  'e 
'ad  with  'im  stood  on  it  too,  an'  the  lid  simply 
wouldn't  go  dahn;  so  Mr.  Brownin',  'e  said, 
'Jump  on  missus,'  so  I  was  in  my  widow's 
weeds,  yer  know,  but  we  'ad  ter  git  it  dahn,  so 
I  stood  on  it,  an'  we  all  jumped,  an'  at  last 


Liza  of  Lambeth  221 

we  got  it  to,  an'  screwed  it;  but,  lor',  we  did 
'ave  a  job;  I  shall  never  forget  it." 

Then  all  was  silence.  And  a  heaviness 
seemed  to  fill  the  air  like  a  grey  blight,  cold 
and  suffocating;  and  the  heaviness  was  Death. 
They  felt  the  presence  in  the  room,  and  they 
dared  not  move,  they  dared  not  draw  their 
breath.  The  silence  was  terrifying. 

Suddenly  a  sound  was  heard — a  loud  rat- 
tle. It  came  from  the  bed  and  rang  through 
the  room,  piercing  the  stillness. 

The  doctor  opened  one  of  Liza's  eyes  and 
touched  it,  then  he  laid  on  her  breast  the  hand 
he  had  been  holding,  and  drew  the  sheet  over 
her  head. 

Jim  turned  away  with  a  look  of  intense 
weariness  on  his  face,  and  the  two  women  be- 
gan weeping  silently.  The  darkness  was  sink- 
ing before  the  day,  and  a  dim,  grey  light  came 
through  the  window.  The  lamp  spluttered 
out. 

THE  END. 


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